


Coming Up for Air

by SmoakingGreenArrow



Series: Just Beneath the Surface [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Halloween season, Serial Killers, Suspense, Thriller, horror fic, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoakingGreenArrow/pseuds/SmoakingGreenArrow
Summary: Sequel to Just Beneath the Surface:Two years after their traumatic meeting in the Holland Forest, Felicity and Oliver are still learning how to find their place together as a couple, while working side by side at the FBI…not to mention all the other issues that come with surviving a serial killer’s obsession. The Dollmaker is locked up tight at Slabside, but Felicity and Oliver quickly realize that the past has a way of crawling back to haunt them, in more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's baaaack! I'm planning on Thursday updates through October. I know it's Friday:p I was just too busy last night to post! But Thursdays, Thursdays, Thursdays!! I've been planning on doing this sequel since last October, so I'm EXCITED as you can imagine. It's been a year in the making, and I really hope you enjoy!

Even through the rain, it burns. The fire in the middle of the clearing is the only light Felicity can see. And in her haze, she stares at the flames, watching them reach for the sky while the rain falls to the ground around it. 

The water landing on her face is cold as ice, and the metal table beneath her back is just as bad. Felicity shivers, glancing down at her bare legs and feet. Her dress is soaked, her hands clammy, and she knows upon instinct that she’s been here for hours.

The fire does nothing to keep her warm, yet it offers enough light so that she can see the trees surrounding her. And she knows where she is. A place that’s too familiar and too haunting. The smell of wet leaves and mud and memories she’s never wanted to relive.

“Oh good, you’re up,” his voice calls over the wind.

Felicity freezes, blinking in the rain until she sees him standing a few yards away, that nervous twitch pulling his lips into a smile. “Hello there, darling,” he greets her when she meets his eyes. “We should get started. I don’t have as much time as I’d hoped, and I need to make sure you’re perfect.”

He comes into closer view a moment later, black gloves covering his hands as he touches her face, admires her. Felicity recoils against it, but she can’t move. 

Groaning, she works and fails to free her arms and legs, making her suddenly aware of the restraints. “No,” Felicity gasps, tugging at the straps around her ankles and wrists. But it’s no use.

Although the rain makes it difficult to hear, Felicity notices the eerie scrape of his knife across the table, ringing in her ears like nails on a chalkboard. “Sh, sh, sh,” he places a hand on her arm, squeezing as if that will bring her any kind of comfort. 

And then he whistles.

A long, low tune that Felicity has never been able to forget.

She clenches her teeth tight as the white haired man levels his face above hers again, allowing her to look into his eyes. 

There’s nothing but cruelty and evilness behind them.

“I need you to relax, Felicity. You may not be able to admit it now, but this is what we both want. To savor your beauty forever. It might hurt now, my darling...but I promise, thanks to me, you will never die.”

“Barton Mathis,” Felicity blurts, her eyes aching as rainwater drips from his face and onto hers, but she refuses to close her eyes. Even for a moment. 

The monster above her stops, setting his knife down on the table at her hip. And a dozen ideas race through her mind. Grab the knife, stab this bastard, get herself free, run. 

Barton Mathis seems surprised that she knows his name, his head cocking to the side. 

Anger flashes through his emotionless stare. 

Then he touches the tip of his finger to the corner of her mouth. Felicity writhes to get free, her skin igniting with rage, her fingers inching towards the knife he’s abandoned within her reach. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she growls.

Before she can take it, Mathis snatches the weapon from the table. He smiles down at her, making her skin crawl. “Perfect lips,” he compliments calmly, as if he’s commenting on the weather. 

Pulling her bottom lip down with his thumb, Mathis sighs. “Perfect,” he muses again before reaching into the pocket on his apron. Felicity stares as he digs around until he finds what he’s looking for. “Now, the rain will make this difficult, but please don’t fret. I’ve found the perfect shade for you.”

Felicity blinks as he displays a tube of lipstick, looking at her with pride. Her entire body feels weightless, and then numb, as she watches him uncap it. His attention is focused on her mouth, dragging the lipstick slowly and carefully over her lips.

“Shh…no tears, my darling. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

Maybe this is how her life was always meant to end, and she’d only delayed fate when she escaped him. Maybe she’s always been doomed to die in the Holland Forest at the hands of this man. Maybe destiny is real, and this is hers.

Felicity couldn’t help but recognize that if Barton Mathis could hear her thoughts, he would probably revel at the thought. 

She was certain that he would enjoy the idea that he had dominated her life as soon as he’d laid eyes on her. 

After watching her give a presentation in college, he’d claimed her. Vowed to freeze her in time forever. He’d told her once that she belonged to him.

His doll.

And he’s getting his wish now, isn’t he?

Felicity’s eyes stay peeled open while he applies mascara and fixes her hair. Everything feels numb. Her body won’t move, she can’t even manage to lift a finger. Crippling fear. Like she’s being forced to witness this. This man of her nightmares as he finally gets what he’s always wanted. 

Her. 

When Barton Mathis is finally finished, Felicity stares up at him with unshed tears. He kneels beside the table and admires her for a long time. The rain covers both of them. But she can’t feel that either. 

He lifts the table up, adjusting it so that she’s upright against the slab of metal. As the world tilts into focus, he pulls out a camera from his bag, snapping a few pictures of her to keep. When he’s finished, Mathis leans in close, his haunting whistle filling her ears again as he adjusts her wet hair, making sure the straps will hold her in place. His lips hover against hers, and with a chill down her spine, Felicity wonders if he intends to kiss her.

He doesn’t, but the Dollmaker whispers something she can’t understand, his breath blowing across her face. It feels as if he’s sucking the life right out of her.

And then he packs up his bag and leaves.

Once he’s finally gone, time seems to slow. 

All Felicity can do is stare as the light moves with the shadows on the trees. 

Until finally, the whole forest is dark. The rain tapers off until even the dripping is nonexistent. The fire dies into silence. There are no stars in the sky. No crickets chirping. Not a soul or sound to be heard. She’s completely alone in the darkness. 

As time passes and the sky remains black and empty, Felicity wonders if the Holland Forest could be hell itself. Just a never-ending pit of darkness. Nothingness. 

Surely, this can’t be her fate. 

It isn’t  _ fair _ .

A small light in the distance catches her eye. 

It bounces off the trees and casts new shadows in her hell. As the light comes closer, getting brighter, Felicity lets herself feel hopeful.

It’s  _ something _ .

With the hope, a voice breaks through the emptiness, echoing between the trees, cutting through the forest. 

She knows it. Felicity can hear him. It’s a voice that has kept her safe.

And he’ll do it again. He always does. He always finds her. Pulls her out of the darkness and into the light. 

As the sound grows closer, just like the light, Felicity wants to cry. To scream. To tell him that she’s  _ here _ . 

She hears Oliver’s voice calling her name. Getting closer and closer. The light grows brighter and brighter.

Finally, she sees him. 

Oliver comes crashing through the forest and right into her line of sight. His eyes are wild as he screams for her again. She tries to answer, but she’s too numb, one with the silence and the darkness. Almost like she’s been living in it for too long, and doesn’t know how to get out.

After a moment, the light from his flashlight glints off of the metal table she’s propped up on, catching his attention. “Felicity!” Oliver gasps, almost dropping the light as he barrels across the clearing. 

Felicity wants to cry, let tears of joy and relief wash the Dollmaker’s makeup away. She wants to rip off the restraints and wrap her arms around Oliver. But no matter what her brain is saying, there’s not a single part of her body that listens.

She’s frozen.

And when Oliver is close enough to see her, to look into her eyes, he freezes too.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t speak.

Instead, Felicity watches as the breath escapes his lungs. 

The flashlight falls from his hand, landing on the ground at his feet, but Oliver doesn’t even notice. 

His eyes are glued to hers, but where she’d been expecting to see joy and relief on his face, all she sees is shock.

“No, no, no,” Oliver drops to his knees, looking and sounding like the wind was knocked out of him.

Felicity fights to find her voice, to let him know that she’s okay. But Oliver begins to cry, strangled sobs wracking from his lips. “Felicity,” he chokes, _“_ _ no !” _

The light from his flashlight shines on her face, and Felicity can’t even imagine what he sees. A painted smile on a pale face that maybe he can’t even recognize. More makeup than he’s ever known her to wear, streaked with rain. 

Death.

Is this how he’ll remember her?

She can feel her chest aching; for herself, for him, and for their life together. Her heart breaks as Oliver sobs. It’s the sound of desperation, of someone lost. She’s never seen him like this. And it’s killing her.

All she needs to do is move a finger. Blink. Make one tiny noise.  _ Something _ . 

For a moment, Oliver stops to take in the rest of her, his eyes wide and broken. And then he sucks in a sharp breath, unable to move from his hands and knees as he crawls towards her.

When he reaches the table, he pulls himself forward, his hands shaking as he touches her wrist. “Felicity,” Oliver whimpers, his fingers digging into her skin. 

She realizes that he’s searching for a pulse. And her chest hurts with hopefulness once again, certain that he’ll find one there. 

Felicity waits for it; for him to gasp when he finds that she’s breathing, that her heart still beats. She wants to see his eyes to snap up to hers with happiness shining in them rather than anguish. 

Instead, Oliver releases a painful sound from his chest, his body slumping to the wet ground again. 

And Felicity finally understands that she can’t comfort him. She’s frozen, a doll forever just as Barton Mathis had promised.

Oliver didn’t find a pulse. She can’t tell him that she’s alive, because she’s not.

* * *

When she opens her eyes, Felicity is looking up at the ceiling fan, knowing instantly that she’s in her bedroom. The fan spins above her head, the blades of it moving too fast for her to see them, but she focuses on trying.

She has to focus on something.

Because her entire body is numb with fear.

Just like in her dream, Felicity can’t move a muscle. She can’t speak. Even though she recognizes this feeling, it’s been a long time since this has happened.

And it’s  _ terrifying _ .

Despite the fact that she recognizes her surroundings now, Felicity feels panic rising in her throat. It tightens in her chest. Regardless of the familiar bed beneath her back, the calming swing of the fan above, and even the scent of the candle she’d been burning earlier that night, all Felicity can think about is the Holland Forest. Being back there with  _ him _ .

She’s paralyzed with the fear.

Only then does she feel Oliver’s presence in bed with her. Only then does she realize that his arms are wound tight around her, his lips pressed against her shoulder. He picks his head up when a small noise escapes her throat, fighting through the pressure in her throat as she takes a deep breath.

Letting it out slowly, Felicity meets Oliver’s eyes. 

She watches the expression of confusion on his face morph into concern, his hand gripping harder into her hip. “You’re okay,” Oliver whispers, not taking his eyes off of her. “I’m right here, Felicity. Just breathe. Breathe with me, honey.”

Felicity listens to his voice, letting it calm her and doing as he instructs.

She’s not alone. He’s here. They’re safe.

It takes another few minutes for her to come out of the night terror. All the while, Oliver talks, his words soft and soothing, his eyes never wavering as he brushes the tears away that must’ve escaped. His hands move across her skin, rubbing over her stiff muscles while he leads her away from the demons in her mind.

When she’s able to move again, Felicity lifts her hand to his arm, releasing a long, shaky breath. Her body feels weightless and exhausted, but she’s relieved.

Eventually, Oliver relaxes too, combing his fingers through her hair and closing his eyes, finally breaking the contact. “Felicity,” he leans down until his forehead touches hers. “Are you okay?”

As she comes to her senses, she can smell his familiar shampoo. She can feel the heat of his body, just a few inches away. And she lets out another deep breath, turning towards him a little more. “Yes,” her voice is low and groggy. But he feels so good. Comforting. Oliver brushes her hair away from her neck where it’s matted in sweat. He sighs, gently tilting her chin to look at him. 

“It’s been a while since you had a nightmare like that,” his eyebrows furrow in concern.

As Felicity looks him over, she notices that he’s still in his suit from work. His shoes aren’t even off yet. She glances at the clock, seeing that it’s almost 3:00a.m.

“You scared me half to death,” Oliver whispers, cupping her face in one hand as the other winds around her. “I heard you scream as I was coming in.”

She swallows, “I’m sorry I scared you.” 

Oliver picks up Felicity’s hand, kissing each finger. His smile is gentle, apologetic. “I’m sorry I wasn’t home earlier. I should have been.”

With a small shrug, Felicity tries to smile back. “You couldn’t have known that I’d have a nightmare.”

“I know, but it’s a difficult day, I should have realized...” Oliver bites his lip. “The thought of you being alone when you wake up from those...” he shakes his head, letting the words trail off.

It’s been two years since Barton Mathis kidnapped her and buried her in the Holland Forest. Which also means two years since she’d met Oliver in the most sinister way possible.

Felicity’s night terrors used to cause plenty of problems, the worst of it being sleep paralysis. It was really the worst in the months that followed Mathis’ arrest. And it has slowly improved over time, becoming less frequent. She’s been sleeping without a problem for almost a year.

“I nearly forgot,” Felicity whispers, pinning her gaze to Oliver’s mouth. She raises her hand to his chin, smoothing the pad of her thumb over his lip. For a moment, Felicity feels like he’s the fragile one. Breakable. The pain that shines in Oliver’s eyes makes her want to protect him. Even though she knows that this man is anything but fragile. “Today. I was at work...and it just hit me. Two years...and it still took the breath right out of me when I realized what day it is.”

Oliver frowns, “why didn’t you come get me?”

“I was down in the coroner’s office,” Felicity squints at him, making a face as if she’s already expecting a lecture. “It seemed like a better idea to just have my moment in peace than to alert the whole bureau that it’s the two year anniversary of the worst day of my life.”

His frown deepens even more, and she knows what he’s thinking about. 

The FBI had pardoned her from any tasks requiring a visit to the morgue. Death is a common occurrence in their line of work...Felicity is familiar with crime scenes and death, stepping over murder victims so she can comb over the trajectory of their blood. It isn’t the violence, or the bodies, that once bothered her. 

It was the morgue. The place had disturbed something in her bones. The rows of coffins that were just about the same size as  _ hers _ . When Felicity had taken her first trip to the coroner’s office, working her first case with the team, it had caused a terrible panic attack. Something to remind her of the wounds that were still fresh at the time.

The bureau, or rather Oliver, she guessed, had decided that avoiding the morgue wouldn’t hinder her ability to help with federal investigations. Her assets to the FBI didn’t rely on examining dead bodies, anyway.

Until recently, Felicity had been all too happy to oblige with the deal. But lately she’s been finding herself volunteering to go talk to the medical examiners when the case requires. Testing whether or not she can handle it. Which is exactly what she’d been doing down there today.

The question in Oliver’s eyes is clear, but he doesn’t voice it. She simply shrugs in response, and he sighs. They both know it’s not worth an argument, not in that moment, at least. She won’t be going back to the morgue anytime soon.

“Do you want to talk about the dream?” Oliver changes the subject, laying his head on his pillow and looking at her.

Slowly, Felicity turns onto her side, scooting closer until she can bury her face in his neck. Oliver welcomes her into his arms, his chin pressing gently to the top of her head as he speaks again, “hey...you know the deal, baby.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, closing her eyes.

“Whatever you say to me in the dark...” Oliver trails off, kissing her forehead.

“Stays in the dark,” Felicity finishes. “I know,” she nuzzles her nose against his throat, gathering her thoughts and listening to the steady beat of his heart. “It was the same as always. You’d think I’d realize it’s a dream by now and just...I don’t know. Wake up. But it always feels so real.”

Oliver lets out a deep breath, his warm fingers trailing from her neck to the bottom of her spine. “That’s because it was real. You survived it, and it’s over now.”

Felicity nods, toying with his tie as she listens to the gruff, tender timbre of his words. Oliver groans when she tugs on his tie, loosening it. She pulls it over his head and drops it on the bed, then her fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin on hers. 

Taking a moment, Felicity appreciates the comfort; the sound of his breath blowing over her hair and the familiar way he smells.

And then she picks her head up from his chest. Felicity’s eyes roam over Oliver’s face, his breath evening out, his eyelids fluttering as if he’s exhausted but trying to stay awake. 

He  _ looks  _ exhausted. And her own eyes feel heavy, too. But Felicity keeps her attention on his features, tracing her hands across the planes of his face. He might be tired, but Oliver also looks peaceful. Aside from the crinkle between his eyebrows, which signifies that he’s still worrying about her. 

Gently, Felicity smoothes her index fingers over his eyebrows. Then her thumbs do the same on his cheeks, coaxing that slight frown from his face.

Seeing him like this is exactly what she needs, cleansing her mind of the terrible, pained version of him that haunts her in the dream. The man who fights tooth and nail to find her. To save her. 

But he’s too late.

Snuggling closer, Felicity drapes her arm over his shoulder, pressing her lips against his forehead so she can smell his hair. Oliver hums as she shifts her weight, his hand grazing lower down her back. 

This time, he buries his face in her chest, holding her so close that it makes her heart feel warm. Whole again. 

Oliver curls himself around her completely; slipping his leg between hers, cradling her in his arms while his lips land on her chest. Felicity laughs quietly as his beard tickles her skin, and Oliver does it again. “Hey,” she squirms around when he drops his head lower, letting the scruff on his chin skim over the top of her breasts. 

“Oliver,” she softly nudges his face away, “you still have your shoes on.” Without untangling himself from her, Oliver toes off each of his shoes and kicks them off the bed. Then he closes his eyes, sighing as he settles back in. “And the rest of your clothes?” Felicity relaxes into his embrace.

“I’ll let you help me with those.”

“Oh,” Felicity chuckles, “you will, huh?” Oliver just hums in response, so Felicity pushes onto her elbow, looking down at his face for a moment. She watches as his lips twitch with a smile, but he keeps his eyes closed. She slowly slides her hand up his stomach before working her way down through the buttons of his dress shirt.

When she reaches the bottom, Felicity leans over to press a kiss against his lips. 

“Mm,” Oliver murmurs, opening his eyes when she tips her chin back. 

Felicity stares down at him, meeting his gaze while they share a tired smile. Then her eyes track her own fingers as she trails them through his hair. “I’m happy you’re home.”

“I’m sorry I was so late,” he arches his neck towards her touch. “John and I got caught up in a case. You’re sure you’re feeling okay?”

She nods, biting her lip as his eyes search hers. “I’m okay.”

He keeps his eyes on hers, searching somewhere inside of her. Some secret place she’s never shared with anyone before. It’s like there’s a corner of herself that only Oliver can see. And she’s more than happy to let him be there. 

After a moment, when he’s apparently satisfied that she’s telling him the truth, Oliver sits up, cupping her chin between his fingers. His smile is sweet as he leans in to kiss her. “Well,” Oliver whispers. “I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” he kisses her again. “And then I’m going to shower,” another kiss. “Then I’m going to unplug the alarm clock,” another kiss, “and we’re going to sleep in.”

Felicity smiles back against his lips, totally  _ content  _ when he touches her like this. Speaks to her like this.  _ Loves her like this. _

“Okay.”

With a final groan, Oliver gets up, stripping to his underwear before leaning back down to press a one more kiss to the top of her head. 

He swings the door open and almost trips over a mass of fur right in the doorway. “Ophie,” Oliver grumbles, catching himself before he falls straight over her.

Felicity listens to the grumble in response from the dog. And she fights not to laugh when Oliver rolls his eyes, beckoning her in.

With all the dramatics of a teenager, Ophie turns a distrustful glare to Oliver as she shuffles into their bedroom. She joins Felicity on the bed without an invitation, making herself comfortable right in the spot he’d been laying, plopping down on his pillow with a heavy sigh. Then she sets her stare back on Oliver, cozying up to Felicity’s side with unwavering loyalty. 

Ophie could tell that something had happened, that Felicity is still a little shaken. And it seems like she’s decided to pin the blame on Oliver.

“Oph,” Oliver bends down until he’s eye level with the dog. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?” He presses his lips between Ophie’s eyes and scratches behind her ear, her favorite spot. Of course, this means that he’s instantly forgiven. 

Felicity swears, her dog understands more than most dogs. At his request, Ophie huffs, setting her head on Felicity’s thigh as her eyes shift between the two of them. 

“Good girl,” Oliver smirks. Then he tosses a wink at Felicity before leaving the room.

She lays in bed, looking up at the ceiling fan again. But this time, Felicity can hear Oliver in the kitchen as he makes the tea. And Ophie is quickly snoring beside her, stretching her legs to get comfortable. 

A few minutes later, Oliver returns with a steaming mug. Felicity takes it in one hand, her other hand raking through Ophie’s fur. Her eyelids grow heavy as the tea warms her up. And Oliver moves to the bathroom, leaving her to listen to the soothing beat of the water from his shower. She feels the steady rise and fall of Ophie’s breath beneath her palm. 

It’s all enough to make her feel like herself again.

This is her home. This is where she belongs...not in that forest.  _ This  _ is the life she deserves.

Felicity can still feel the fogginess of her dream, hanging in her mind, exhausting her. But she loves this moment nonetheless. 

When Oliver comes back, she’s fighting to keep her eyes open. Part of her is afraid to close them again, so she waits for him. And he smiles as soon as he looks at her, holding a towel around his waist with one fist. 

Oliver takes the tea from Felicity’s hand and sets it on her nightstand before she ends up spilling it. Then he flips the light off, drops his towel to the floor, and climbs under the covers with her. 

Ophie feigns annoyance as Oliver joins them, but she curls up at their feet and is back to snoring within seconds.

Felicity exhales when Oliver takes her into his embrace again. His arms certainly do a better job of keeping her warm than any cup of tea ever could. He always finds her...brings back that light and warmth that makes her love him more and more. And she’s quickly falling asleep, too tired to open her eyes again even if she wanted to. With the way Oliver’s breath evens out, Felicity knows he’s drifting off just as fast.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness.

And the fog lifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!!


	2. Chapter 2

Oliver doesn’t bother with pleasantries as he enters the interrogation room. He’s in one of the most brutal prisons in the country, and he knows Felicity is worried.

It’s his second time at Slabside. But Oliver’s sure that it won’t be his last. Each moment he has to spend here just makes him anxious to be home. With his girlfriend and their dog and a pint of mint chip ice cream to share.

The prison might be the closest thing he’s ever seen resembling hell.

It’s cold and harsh, with an energy radiating throughout that puts him on edge, as if a rampage is stewing just beneath the concrete.

As much as Oliver hates to be within these stone walls and dark, musty-smelling hallways, it almost makes it worth it to know that this is the place where Barton Mathis resides.

In the beginning, right after Mathis was convicted and when Felicity was going through the worst of the fallout, imagining Mathis here felt good. He’d told himself countless times that the prison might be worse than death. Picturing him as he rotted in his cell at Slabside was the only thing that stopped Oliver from finding a way to murder him in those moments. 

The room remains completely silent as Oliver drags the metal chair across the floor. He sits down, not saying a word as he slides the blank piece of paper across the table. Slowly, Oliver sets a pen down on top of the sheet before finally glancing up at the inmate in front of him. 

Still, Oliver doesn’t say a word...yet he’s pleased to see how how much Barton Mathis has declined from just a year ago. His skin is paler, graying, his cheeks hollow and his eyes thick with dark circles. His white hair is thinned to almost nothing. He keeps his hands clasped on the metal table in front of him, frail fingers that look like they’re pulling his skin taut, showing every bone of his knuckles. And his once-lean frame is practically deteriorated now.

He’s a hollow version of the animated, terrifying serial killer they’d locked up two years ago.

Oliver couldn’t stop himself from smirking in satisfaction even if he’d wanted to. 

Seeing this man wither away gives him a warped sense of satisfaction. One that he’s instinctively ashamed of, before he quickly remembers the horrors Barton Mathis is responsible for.

He deserves it.

Despite his appearance, Mathis leans forward in his chair as he stares back at Oliver, lifting his cuffed hands off the table. It’s as if he’s competing for control of the room, ignoring the fact that he’s the one wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs.

There’s just the two of them, and Mathis should know full well by now that Oliver will never give him the pleasure of seeing him squirm.

“Tell me about her,” Barton is the first to speak. 

Oliver just shakes his head. They had this conversation exactly one year ago. And Oliver hadn’t been swayed back then, either. He refuses to let this man bait him, and it’s only icing on the cake to know how much that irritates Mathis.

“Tell me about Felicity Smoak, and I’ll give you the names.”

“How about you give me the names,” Oliver counters, “and I won’t tell the officers to put you back in your old cell.” Slabside’s warden keeps him informed, and Oliver has no problem holding it over the killer’s head. “I heard Ben Turner wasn’t very fond of your crimes.”

Barton winces, probably remembering the beating he’d taken when his cellmate learned what he’d done to earn himself a bed at Slabside. Apparently some of the inmates had morals. And apparently mutilating women’s bodies and turning them into dolls crossed a line, even for the worst criminals. “My fellow inmates don’t quite appreciate my artistry.”

Oliver scoffs, “the men here are just as vile and twisted as you, Mathis. But I see your point,” he shrugs, not a single shit to give about the comfort of this man. “I imagine that for someone like you...a pathetic man who hides in the shadows and attacks unsuspecting innocents? Well, the other prisoners must think you’re a coward.” 

The inmate narrows his eyes, confirming as much. So Oliver continues, flipping the script on him, getting under his skin now the way he always tries to do. “What do they do to cowards here, Mathis?”

It takes Barton a moment to compose himself, something that Oliver takes note of. When he’d first met the Dollmaker in person, he’d been full of arrogance and poise. Now, the man in front of him is unraveling. Two years living in Slabside is taking its toll on him. Body and mind. 

But after all those murders, and what this man did to his victims before he killed them, and most importantly, the fact that he’d almost done the same to  _ Felicity _ …

Oliver has no sympathy for the devil.

“How is she?” Mathis asks, his voice shaky but the look in his eyes as cold as ever. Oliver can tell he’s struck a cord. “Is she functioning in her second life? Or is she struggling to find her place...fighting to feel alive again?” Like a wounded animal trapped in a corner, Barton Mathis bites back.

And Oliver refuses to react, keeping his expression perfectly wooden. He slowly sets his finger on the paper between them, his hard gaze focused on the prisoner. “We made a deal,” Oliver reminds him. “If you can’t honor it, I won’t come. You have ten seconds to give me two more names. And if this page is still blank at the end of that, I’m sure Ben Turner would love to finish what he started.”

With a low snarl, Mathis picks up the pen. He glares at Oliver, analyzing him, but Oliver doesn’t flinch. He had made peace with this situation long ago. Agreeing to bargain with the man who had hurt Felicity is hard enough. Add in his history, his passion for the law and bringing killers like this to justice, and these visits are an even tougher pill to swallow. 

But Oliver knows this game. He knows what he’s willing to play with, too.

If he walks out with two more names of the Dollmaker’s victims, then he’s done his job today. If he doesn’t, then so be it. 

There was a time when agent Oliver Queen would do anything to solve a case. To find answers. But with Mathis,  _ Felicity  _ is his bargaining chip. And there’s not a single detail about her, or their life together, that Oliver would ever be willing to gamble with.

Since Oliver is the only visitor Mathis ever sees outside of prisoners and guards, he spends most of his time alone. And Oliver is willing to bet that his luxuries are worth more to him than Felicity, even if she is still the object of his sick fantasy. 

“Do you talk to her often?” Mathis asks casually, his eyes on the paper as he writes each letter with care. “I know she thinks of me. I’m probably as present in her mind as she is in mine. I wonder,” his eyes shift up to Oliver, a hint of mischief in his eyes that clues Oliver in. “Does she dream of me?” 

He’s trying to provoke him. He wants to get a rise out of Oliver so that he’ll reveal something about Felicity. 

“Because I see her almost every time I close my eyes.”

As if to twist the knife in Oliver’s gut, the Dollmaker closes his eyes, a wistful smile lightening his expression.

“Fine,” Oliver leans forward, “you want to know something about Felicity Smoak?”

Expectedly, the killer opens his eyes, looking cautious as he sizes Oliver up.

Oliver smirks, “I’ll tell you something you may not realize. You’re going to die in this prison, Mathis. And I assure you, whatever you think of her, it doesn’t bother me. You’ll take your final breaths in these rotting walls, holding on to the fantasy you have of her, but it won’t be real. You’ll die alone here. And I highly doubt Ms. Smoak will care.” Oliver holds his hand out for the paper, “the names. Now.”

Moving slowly, Mathis sets the pen aside and folds the sheet in half, lifting his hand to offer it. “Allison Thompson and Natalie Law,” Oliver reads them before looking back at the man who took their lives. “Where are the bodies?”

Expecting the question, Mathis doesn’t hesitate. “Buried them about a mile west of the diner on route thirty,” he meets his eyes, an expression that’s lacking any remorse. And it makes Oliver’s skin crawl. “Take me out there and I can show you.” Oliver doesn’t even have to open his mouth to get his  _ no  _ across. 

“They were sorority sisters.”

And these are the details that his team can gather. The pieces of the girls’ lives that Oliver would rather hear from anyone besides the twisted man who had murdered them. More than ready to leave, Oliver stands up from his chair, his eyes already on the door. 

“See you next year, Detective Queen…”

He lets Barton have the last word. Oliver doesn’t reply. And he doesn’t look back.

After getting his gun and his cell phone back from security, Oliver walks with the Dollmaker’s latest victims burning a hole in his pocket and his head held high.

It’s not easy to shake the mood that it puts him in as he heads towards the prison’s front gates. But Oliver figures that getting to work; connecting the disappearances of Allison Thompson and Natalie Law to Barton Mathis, sending a team out to search for their bodies, and making a plan to inform the families with whatever they find, will help to distract him.

He can spend the next couple of hours finding closure for these girls, and then he can file them, the Dollmaker, and all of his frustration into a drawer in his office. He can set it aside for the night and go home to Felicity.

It’s the only thing he  _ can  _ do. The only process that makes this day feel less terrible. The only thing that makes sense.

She knows he’s at Slabside, and why he’s there, so Oliver isn’t surprised to see three messages from Felicity when he looks down at his phone. Despite the fact that he’d texted her just before he gave his belongings to the guards for safekeeping, of course she’s worried.

Twenty minutes after Oliver shut his phone off, Felicity had texted him back. And then again to wish him luck. And then one more time ten minutes later to ask when he’d be home.

Shaking his head, Oliver pulls up her number while he walks across the front yard; wanting to hear her voice rather than text her back. 

As the phone begins to ring though, the guard in the watchtower above his head triggers the prison’s alarm, and every officer patrolling outside reacts. The prisoners behind the fence get shoved towards the doors, commands being snapped about which exits need heavier coverage and which inmates need to be checked for weapons.

Quickly, Oliver hangs up before Felicity answers and hears all the chaos. Watching the guards as they try not to panic, he doesn’t feel comfortable turning his back on it as if he didn’t see anything. So Oliver stops one of the guards racing by him, grabbing his arm. “What’s happening?”

The guard looks young and scared as hell, yet there’s an excitement in his eyes that makes Oliver wonder how long he’s been working at Slabside. “Fight in the cafeteria,” the boy tells him, bouncing on his feet until Oliver finally lets him go. Once he’s free, the officer runs for the door, straight towards the mess that signaled the lockdown.

Knowing that he can’t just walk away, Oliver curses under his breath before following the guard back inside. 

The prisoners in their cells range from mildly curious to bored, looking as if they’ve watched this scene a million times before. The guards continue to run through the halls, checking all the exits while shouting directions to each other. 

When the guard Oliver’s following reaches the doors of the cafeteria, it becomes clear that the fight has blown into mayhem. 

Not bothering to stop, the young guard puts his hand on the door, ready to burst in and join the madness. Oliver swipes his hand out to stop him. “What’s your name, officer?”

“Elijah Bennett...” the kid rocks on his heel, anxious to get in there and help his fellow officers. 

Oliver nods once, pulling his gun from his holster. “Listen, Elijah. The inmates in there have nothing left to lose. And whether you’ve treated them with respect or not, that uniform means they hate you. They won’t hesitate if they have a chance to kill you, so you can't hesitate either.” He offers the gun to Bennett, watching as the officer’s eyes widen. 

Oliver guesses that the kid couldn’t have been working at Slabside very long. He seems naive and untrained. And armed with only a taser. “Do you understand?”

Elijah Bennett nods, accepting the gun. Listening through the door, Oliver is willing to bet that the situation inside is quickly escalating. The prisoners and the guards are at war, and they’ll all kill each other. 

“What about you...sir?” Elijah asks, looking at Oliver curiously. It’s obvious that he stands out in this place. The guard’s eyes comb over Oliver’s suit and tie, his eyebrows furrowing. “Who are you?”

“Oliver Queen. I work for the FBI. Only use that if it’s necessary,” Oliver instructs, gesturing to the gun. He meets the kid’s eyes, making sure that he’s listening. “And if it’s necessary, shoot to kill.” Bennett takes a steadying breath, readying himself. “Okay?” Oliver asks. As soon as he gets another nod in response, Oliver shoves the door open.

The sounds of the riot explode; guards and prisoners clashing in every corner of the room. 

When one of the nearby prisoners notices that the door is open, he lunges for it. Oliver quickly knocks him out while officer Bennett slams the door shut. The moment it closes, the guard yanks on it again, clearly wondering why none of the people inside have escaped. And of course, confirming what Oliver had already suspected. 

The doors will only open from the outside. No one gets out. The inmates  _ and  _ the guards are like fish in a barrell. 

“They’re trapped in here,” the young officer’s eyes swing up to Oliver, surprise written all over his face.

In a place like Slabside, the warden would rather see the prisoners, and his own staff, die before he lets even one of these criminals escape. And Oliver suspects that that truth just registered with Elijah Bennett. 

Many of the prisoners have been knocked out, some he’s sure are dead, and a lot of the guards are in the same boat. But Oliver has a feeling that those doors won’t open again until everyone in this room has given up.

Once he’s recovered from his shock, officer Bennett heads towards the serving stations, intent on helping the kitchen staff where they’re hiding behind the counters. And Oliver takes a moment to scan the room. 

He could jump into the middle of the fist fight to his left. Maybe he should stop the two guards who are working together to beat one unarmed prisoner. Surely, he could help on the upper level of the cafeteria where a group of prisoners are hanging a guard over the railing. But rather than jumping straight into the fight, Oliver searches for the source of the destruction. He knows that with a riot this extreme, there has to be a ring leader. A kingpin who provoked this whole show…

It only takes a moment for Oliver to pick him out.

In the corner of the cafeteria, he catches sight of an older prisoner, flanked by four others who look to be protecting him. The man is pale and balding, but his muscular build and Alpha façade cause him to stand out. 

And more than that, Oliver recognizes him. 

John Diggle spearheaded a case six months ago that sent Daniel Brickwell to Slabside. Oliver only identifies him from the coverage of his trial and helping Dig organize a case against Brick and his men. 

Since Brickwell was one of the most notorious mob bosses in the country, Oliver assumes that this is someone the guards might even fear. In the midst of the riot, Danny is standing above another, much smaller prisoner who cowers in a ball at his feet.

Oliver crosses the room quickly, avoiding the worst of the violence. He steps in front of Danny Brickwell just as he’s about to land another blow to his victim’s already bruised face. 

The man practically snarls, annoyed with the interruption. And his guard dogs shift towards Oliver, ready to react but Brick raises a hand to stop them. He sizes Oliver up, his eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”

With a passive shrug, Oliver drops Danny’s hand and takes a step back.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Brickwell cocks his head to the side.

“I think these prisoners stop rebelling as soon as you tell them to stop.” Oliver raises an eyebrow, “so tell them to stop.”

He looks at Oliver from his shoes to his hair. Brickwell scoffs. “I should kill you just for making me look at you. I’d be an idiot if I couldn’t read ‘cop’ written all over you, wouldn’t I?”

“Detective,” he corrects, not surprised in the slightest that Brickwell catches on quickly. He wouldn’t have been running the largest network of drug trading the FBI had ever seen if he didn’t have a brain in his head. “And don’t worry, I recognize you, too.”

Brickwell’s gaze hardens, realizing what Oliver means. A stranger on the street wouldn’t know Danny Brickwell’s face, but a federal agent sure would. 

Before the mobster can lash out, or even speak, Oliver grabs a lunch tray off a nearby table and pulls it back quickly before ramming it against Brickwell’s throat. When Brick chokes on the impact, keeling over in stunned pain, Oliver brings his knee up, hard, to the man’s face. 

Once he hears his nose break, Oliver shoves his motionless body back, knocking down one of Danny’s bodyguards with the momentum. Quick and quiet. Wind knocked out of him in one beat, out cold the next. Then Oliver turns on his heel, feeling another of Danny’s men rushing behind him. He drops to his knee, disorienting the man’s force, and then wrenches the tray up. A sharp crack makes him cry out in pain as the metal connects with the assailant’s jaw.

Stupidly, Brick’s men come at him one by one, and Oliver easily renders each one unconscious. With their leader being the first one out, it’s clear that the men weren’t ready for a fight. Especially not  _ this  _ fight. In less than five minutes, they’re on the floor, and the air in the room is shifting as the prisoners realize that the instigator is no longer leading the charge. 

It takes the wind out of their sails instantly, stripping the confidence and brutality away from their attack.

Oliver glances down at the inmate Brick and his men had been terrorizing, offering him a hand to help him up. The man accepts it, thanking him over and over. “Get down and stay hidden,” Oliver growls as he scans the room once again. Because this isn’t over just yet.

The man agrees profusely, taking cover under a nearby table. 

Oliver searches for the officer he’d followed back into the prison. He looks to the serving stations where he’d last seen Elijah Bennett, noting the kitchen staff huddled together where they hide behind the counter. But the kid is nowhere to be seen.

Moving quickly, Oliver works his way through the mess of groaning and bleeding bodies to the staff.

There’s three of them cowering together, looking terrified and covered in blood that Oliver is sure doesn’t belong to them. “Hey,” he kneels down in front of one of the women, choosing the one who looks the most alert.

She flinches at the sight of him, a spoon gripped between her hands that she raises at him like a weapon. Oliver meets her eyes, lifting his hands innocently, showing her that he won’t hurt them. “There was a guard here a few minutes ago,” he rambles to the woman and she nods, remembering. “Where did he go?”

The worker shoves her hand out, pointing at the stairs that lead to the upper level of the cafeteria. “He went up there,” she whimpers, “some prisoners were trying to break the door down. He went to stop them.”

“Thank you,” Oliver answers, hurrying towards the stairs. 

Despite the fact that the worst of the fighting is over, Oliver still feels a knot of adrenaline in his stomach. Reaching the staircase, he glances up at what’s ahead, knowing that at the very least, he can’t run in blind.

Felicity will  _ kill him  _ if he comes home with even a scratch.

As Oliver watches the prisoners fight on the balcony, he catches sight of Barton Mathis.

The dollmaker is standing untouched, like the men around him barely notice his presence, ignoring him. And he’s holding a long kitchen knife in his hand, wielding it out in front of him. Oliver follows the knife, peering through the crowd to see where Mathis has it aimed. And at the end of the knife, not too far away, is Elijah Bennett.

The guard’s hands are still shaking, just like they were when they entered the cafeteria. He’s still holding Oliver’s gun in his shaking hand, too. But now, it’s pointed at Barton Mathis.

Oliver knows firsthand just how skilled the Dollmaker is with a knife in his possession. He’d learned that Mathis is unexpectedly lethal on the night the killer had found Felicity at the safehouse two years ago. 

His agents had learned it, too. Barton had put Roy Harper and Rene Ramirez in the hospital with a set of throwing knives at his disposal. He was quick, and deadly, and he wasn’t afraid to strike. But back then, he wasn’t desperate. Oliver knows that Mathis will do anything to get out of Slabside, and this riot might finally be his chance.

Dread the size of a rock slides into Oliver’s stomach as he rushes up the steps. “Shoot, officer Bennett,” he mutters under his breath. He has no idea how much the rookie guard knows about Barton Mathis. But in a standoff like this, his gut screams that hesitating is a mistake. 

“You have to shoot.” Oliver’s heart hammers in his chest as he scrambles through the prisoners and guards to get to the two of them. Oliver wants to yell to the kid, tell him how important it is that he takes his shot before the Dollmaker can get any closer.

When he reaches the landing, Oliver does just that. “Bennett,” he gets the guard’s attention. Elijah’s eyes shift from Mathis to Oliver, the tiniest acknowledgement. He holds the gun higher, clenching his jaw. “Take the shot,” Oliver tells him simply.

Elijah Bennett’s eyebrows push together as he listens to Oliver’s words. He tightens his grip on the gun, looking as if he’s trying to build up his courage. But there’s no time. It’s clear that he’s never taken a life before, and he doesn’t want today to be the day.

The Dollmaker watches them curiously, contemplating his next move as he takes a small step closer. Elijah straightens his hold on the gun, trying to steady his shaking hand and refocus his aim. “Not another step!” Officer Bennett snaps, his voice loud and full of authority. Yet Oliver can see the fear in the boy’s eyes. And he knows, with that rock of dread in his stomach, that Barton Mathis can see it too. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, the serial killer can smell Bennett’s fear.

Mathis stops, shrugging as he heeds the warning. 

Almost in surrender, the dollmaker loosens his grip on the knife, letting his arms fall to his sides as if he can think rationally and see that he can’t win.

He must realize that he’s not getting out of this room. The prisoners are giving up. The guards are gaining control. Continuing to resist would be suicide. And Barton Mathis is too smart and too egocentric to let himself die in a prison fight.

Just as Oliver begins to relax, relief flooding his system, Mathis raises the knife again, jerking his arm back before launching it forward.

“No!” Oliver yells, his heart falling into his stomach. He clambers up the steps, trying to close the rest of the distance because he knows exactly where Mathis is aiming. And he tries like hell to get to officer Bennett before the knife reaches him. 

But Oliver doesn’t make it in time.

He’s close enough that the guard’s blood spatters on his shirt and face, though. Oliver freezes in his tracks, stunned as the boy stumbles back a couple of steps before falling to the ground. 

Mathis’ knife rests fatally between Elijah Bennett’s wide eyes.

When Oliver turns to look at the Dollmaker, he’s gone. 

His eyes scan the room frantically, but this time he only cares to find one man. He’s no longer here to help, to diffuse the situation and stop the bloodshed. If he gets his hands on Mathis...Oliver knows, with the fire burning in his chest, that he’ll kill him. 

He sees the Dollmaker across the balcony; squirming his way through the mass as if there’s anywhere he can hide. Oliver follows after him, forgetting about the sick feeling in his stomach and focusing solely on the retribution on his mind. 

When he catches a glimpse of Barton again, the killer has an arm wrapped around the throat of another prison guard while he drags the man towards the closest exit. Still trying desperately to escape. 

Oliver makes his way to them quickly, shoving anyone in his way aside with more force than necessary. “Mathis!” He yells as he closes the distance, loud and furious enough that prisoners steer clear of him.

Barton glances over his shoulder as he hears Oliver scream for him.

With Oliver running towards them, Mathis seems to realize that his plan won’t work. The guard won’t be able to help him escape, and even if he did, Oliver would be right behind them. Snarling something that Oliver can’t hear, Barton grabs the guard, putting the man between himself and Oliver. He hides behind the guard, adjusting his grip on his throat.

“Come any closer than that, detective Queen, and I break his neck.”

Oliver slows down, skidding to a halt a few feet in front of them. “Let him go,” he glares at Barton, raising his arms to the side. “What are you going to do?” Oliver challenges, too angry and fired up to be careful. “Kill two guards right in front of me? You think I’ll let you walk out of here?”

“As I recall, that officer had a gun pointed at  _ me _ .”

“I promised that you’ll die in here, Mathis,” Oliver plows through the Dollmaker’s taunting. “I’d be happy to see it happen today.”

Barton hesitates, backed into a corner like he’d never been before. He lived by his own rules, evaded the FBI for half his life because he always had a plan. And now he’s out of options. He’s been an animal in a cage for two years. Forced to live like a sheep in order to survive amongst the lions. “Let him go,” Oliver growls.

“Seven bones in the neck,” the Dollmaker mumbles back, “I could fracture just a few...would you leave him here to die or let me get away? What’s more important, detective Queen? His life or my imprisonment?”

Oliver stares at him, “I’ll let him die if it stops you from being free.” Oliver says the words with conviction, with anger. For Elijah Bennett’s life and all the lives that have been pointlessly slaughtered because this man decided it. 

For Felicity.

Mathis smirks as if Oliver’s answer is exactly what he’d been expecting, rather than the last thing he wants to hear. “I understand now… It’s not my freedom that you can’t stand, detective Queen. It’s what I would do with it. You know that if I’m unchained from this hell, I’ll take what’s mine. I’ll take  _ her _ .”

Oliver narrows his eyes at the killer, clenching his jaw to keep from snapping back.

“ _ That’s _ what matters, isn’t it? All of this is about protecting Felicity Smoak. Because you care about her,” he cocks his head to the side, a smile growing on his face as if all the pieces are falling into the right places. “Because you’re in love with her.”

Oliver realizes a little too late that he played right into Mathis’ hand. The killer has known all along that escaping wasn’t viable. So instead, he’d used the riot to pull this truth out. To screw with  _ him _ . He killed officer Bennett just to crack Oliver’s composure. And he won’t have a problem killing this guard just to prove a point.

Of course he’s in love with Felicity.

And now the Dollmaker  _ knows  _ it.

“Does she love you back?” Mathis asks, his eyes bright with interest. “I imagine she must...but what to do about it, hm?” 

Before Barton has a chance to say more, and before Oliver has a chance to react, Mathis is hit from behind. A blunt, metallic crash against his skull that makes Oliver gasp. His eyes fly up to Mathis’ assailant; the feeble man who had been taking a beating from Danny Brickwell. 

Apparently, he’d found some courage to come out from under the table where Oliver had left him hiding. The man still holds the metal food tray in his hands as Barton Mathis crumbles at their feet, unconscious. Yet his eyes are wide and terrified as he looks to Oliver.

“You saved me,” the trembling man explains with a shaky breath. “I owe you my life.”

* * *

Oliver flinches when Diggle pulls the thread tight, stitching up a wound above his eyebrow. After leaving Slabside, he’d come back to the bureau to give his statements. And if he’s being honest, Oliver really wanted to get cleaned up before going home to Felicity.

He knows his prison grime and blood-stained clothes make him look like he’s in much worse shape than he is. And he doesn’t want it to scare Felicity.

On the flip side though, his adrenaline is draining, and he’s sure that he looks like hell anyway.

“What’d Felicity have to say about this?” John finally breaks their agreeable silence while he works. “She’s mad as hell, isn’t she?” When Oliver glances up at him, he sees that his friend is fighting a grin. And John nods as if one look at Oliver’s expression is all the answer he needs. “I wouldn’t want to be on Felicity Smoak’s bad side,” Dig chuckles.

“There was a lot of cursing,” Oliver winces as John cuts the stitch and ties it off. “And I don’t just mean ‘frack.’ Luckily most of her anger doesn’t seem to be directed at me. As far as I know, she’s only upset with me for letting you do these stitches instead of going to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Diggle shrugs, “she hasn’t seen my handiwork yet. She won’t have any complaints.” Oliver tries to smile in response, but it falls when the effort tugs at his bruises. “Done,” John finally takes a step back, reaching for a towel on the table beside them to wipe his hands.

“Thank you.”

Dig nods in acknowledgement. “So, Mathis gave you more names?”

“Natalie Law and Allison Thompson,” Oliver repeats them, relaxing slightly in the familiarity of the way this works. Homicide cases, as strange as it seems, are his comfort zone. He knows what to do. How to handle it. “There’s a diner on route thirty. Mathis said he buried them west of it. Get a team together and find the bodies, confirm their identities before calling the families.”

“Of course,” Dig agrees easily. “You go home and rest up. Lance and I can handle this one.”

Two years ago, Oliver would’ve insisted that he go to the diner himself, that he have a hand in every aspect of an investigation. But Diggle coming back to the FBI has proven that his team doesn’t need him as much as he’d once thought. He can delegate and trust that his agents will not only do their best, but they’ll get answers.

And of course, he’s fully aware of the fact Felicity needs to see him as much as he needs to see her. Pain and death go hand and hand with the job, which is something he’d always accepted. But it’s a lot harder now that he has someone to go home to.

Someone he loves who worries about him returning safely.

“Oh, John,” Oliver pauses in the doorway, pursing his lips as he glances back. “One more favor. There’s a man at Slabside I’d like some information on. He was in the cafeteria during the riot and seems to have gripes with Danny Brickwell.”

Diggle raises an eyebrow, “you saw Brickwell?”

“The prisoners were acting on his authority. He clearly holds some power in Slabside. When I saw him, Brick was totally focused on this one inmate. The guy looked like he could barely keep it together during the riot, yet Danny was beating the shit out of him for some reason.”

“You think Brickwell is up to something on this inside?”

Oliver shrugs, “maybe.” He doesn’t really want to get into everything with Mathis and officer Bennett, but he is extremely curious about the mousy looking man who’d gone from taking a beating to bashing a serial killer over the head with a lunch tray. “Please get in touch with the warden and get a name? And a file on him from whatever police department sent him to Slabside. I want to know what earned him a spot in a prison like that. Just...be careful about it, okay? Warden Knox is going to be on edge after the mess today and probably hesitant to give us anything.”

John looks at him curiously, trying to read between Oliver’s words like he always does. And he’s usually successful. “I will...but why are you interested in this guy? What happened today?”

“He just—” Oliver sighs, “something seemed off about him.” He doesn’t have to explain a detective’s instinct to John Diggle. The man at the prison came off as weak and terrified at first, but there’d been a look on his face, a chaos just under the surface of his eyes that raised a few red flags, the more Oliver processed the events. And the more he thinks about it, the less he likes it.

“Off how?” Diggle presses.

All he wants is some background information...without having to hash out every detail of what happened at Slabside with his agent. “John,” Oliver shakes his head, exhausted. “We’re not discussing this, please just do it. Leave the file on my desk sometime tonight. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dig nods his head. “Sure thing, boss.”

Oliver opens his mouth to respond, but his friend has already turned his back, cleaning up the med supplies on the table. 

He trusts Diggle more than anyone else on the team, and he doesn’t usually bother trying to hide that...it’s just that he doesn’t want to talk about Slabside, and John has to go search for the bodies of Natalie Law and Allison Thompson.

It’s not often that he pulls rank on him either, but Oliver knows that John has a way of pushing Oliver to talk.

Pursing his lips, Oliver chooses to save that conversation for tomorrow.

Instead, he sighs, certain that the man is more than capable of seeing through the plan today and getting him the file by morning. Turning away from the room without another word, Oliver heads home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't play with original characters like Elijah Bennett very often, but when I do....
> 
> Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

She’s wearing the carpet down with her pacing. And Felicity knows she’s muttering to herself, but every time she tries to stop, she glances at the clock again and the muttering continues. Ophie’s eyes track her back and forth across the room from her place on the bed, her ears perked up with mild concern.

When the clock indicates another ten minutes have passed, Felicity is just about ready to hound her boyfriend with another phone call. Nudging Ophie out of the way, she searches for her cell phone that she’d tossed onto the bed before the pacing and muttering began. 

Before Felicity has a chance to call him, she hears the front door of the apartment open. Stopping, she follows the sound with Ophie trailing right on her heels. As she reaches the kitchen, Felicity finally feels the relief she’s been waiting for since Oliver called to tell her he’d just escaped a prison riot.

She can see him. He’s okay...if not a little banged up. Felicity pauses in the hallway, watching as he locks the door behind him. Ophie doesn’t bother waiting though; hurrying towards Oliver while she whines and wags her tail excitedly. 

Oliver bends down to pet her, mumbling his greetings that soothe the dog as she sits down on his feet, patiently accepting his attention. After a moment, Oliver feels Felicity's presence in the doorway, and he glances up at her. She holds her breath, just watching him while she tries to get herself relax.

He’s _ okay _.

And then Oliver smiles at her.

It’s a tired smile, but she needs it.

Finally, Felicity moves, hurrying to reach him just like Ophie had. She finds her own comfort when she wraps her arms around Oliver’s neck and lets out a deep breath. Her heart had felt heavy for the last two hours since his call. But that hug, like so many others before it, is exactly what she needs.

There’s truly nothing like the feeling he gives her. It’s her safe place, where she wants to be, and the only thing that takes the weight off her chest in that moment. He’s _ home _.

Oliver’s response is immediate, noticing the way she’s clutching onto him. He wraps his arms around her waist, and Felicity feels it when he lets out a deep breath, burying his face in her neck.

Standing in the doorway, they stay just like that for a few long minutes.

“Hey,” Oliver mumbles into her hair, neither of them quite ready to let go just yet. No doubt, he can feel the tension that’s still a living thing in her body. “I’m okay,” he soothes.

Pulling back to make sure, Felicity cups his face between her hands. She takes a good, long look at the wounds on his face, grateful that the sutures on his forehead seems to be the worst of it. And then she looks into his eyes, knowing that the scars behind his gorgeous blue gaze are just as scary as the ones on his body. Her thumbs gently rub over his cheeks and she searches his eyes, concluding that he’s exhausted, that this day has taken a toll on him. But she believes his words.

“What happened?” Felicity whispers quietly, watching as Oliver’s eyes slip shut. He bows his head until he can reach her, pressing his forehead against hers.

He’d given her a short, very sugarcoated version on the phone, but Felicity knows that there’s a lot more to the story than simply his assistance in defusing a prison fight. 

“I got two more names from Mathis,” Oliver begins. Felicity nods once, tightening her hands on his shirt. 

Strangely, Barton Mathis and his list of victims had been the last of her concerns. It was hard to think about that when all she could do was imagine Oliver brawling in a maximum security prison with inmates who he probably had a hand in arresting.

“I was on my way out of Slabside when I heard the alarms start to go off. They put the whole place on lockdown and I knew something was wrong.”

Felicity bites her lip, her eyes softening as he leans into her embrace. “So you went back, of course...because Oliver Queen could never walk away from people who might need his help.”

Because he’ll do whatever he can, even for a prison full of men who don’t deserve his protection or kindness. Because he’s _ him _. 

Oliver smiles tiredly again, lifting his shoulder in an innocent shrug. “Would you even be in love with me if I _ could _walk away from that?”

She glides her thumbs gently over his stubbled face, avoiding a bruise she can see forming over his cheekbone. “I would,” Felicity mumbles, leaning in until her lips brush against his, and Oliver’s eyes flutter shut. “Just maybe not as much.” He shivers as her lips touch his, her voice barely a whisper. “Kidding, kidding. I’m just glad you’re home. And I love you..._ so _ much.”

Oliver nods along with her words, opening his eyes to look into hers. “I love you, too.”

“Come here,” Felicity murmurs, taking his hands and leading him to the couch. 

He follows willingly, easily letting Felicity pull him until they’re both seated.

She curls around him again, situating herself with her legs curled up beneath her as she faces him. Oliver falls back against the cushions, his head tipping towards the ceiling. And on the floor below them, Ophie huffs, knowing this routine well enough that she waits until each of them are settled before jumping onto the couch and sprawling out on top of Felicity’s feet.

Once the silence takes the room, Felicity forces herself to stay quiet. He’ll talk when he’s ready. And after a few moments, he does. 

“Mathis was in there,” Oliver sighs, tiling his head towards Felicity. He opens his eyes to look at her, and she calmly runs her fingers through his hair. “Warden Knox locked all the doors in the cafeteria, trying to contain the problem. I saw Mathis and I thought he was trying to escape. He had a guard in a chokehold, and I...I was _ terrified _that he might actually succeed...”

“You stopped him?” Felicity’s breath catches. She swallows her own fear; the idea of Barton Mathis breaking out of maximum security after killing people to do it.

“I thought I did,” Oliver answers gently. “But I think Mathis knew all along that he wasn’t going to make it out of there. ”

The wheels in Felicity’s mind turn, knowing that Oliver wouldn’t have taken the time to stop at headquarters after leaving the prison if Barton Mathis _ had _escaped, much less tell her to stay at home alone and wait for him to get back. 

“An inmate ended up knocking Mathis out, trying to help me,” he explains.

Felicity raises an eyebrow, surprised. “An inmate?”

“Yes. He stopped Mathis from hurting the guard and the whole thing calmed down not long after. The prisoners gave up and the guards stopped fighting, so Knox opened the doors and got everyone back to their cells.”

Felicity leans in, pressing her lips against Oliver’s temple. She kisses him there, once, twice, and a third time. It’s always been amazing to her; seeing the way his mind works, the strategy and intelligence behind every decision he makes. She’s certain that he was smart and calculated with every move he made in the middle of all that chaos.

The more she’d gotten to know Oliver Queen, the more she realized that the man had been made for this job. To save people. To be a leader.

He sighs as she moves her lips to his cheek, resting them there and breathing him in. Felicity can feel him relaxing into her, and she closes her eyes, welcoming his vulnerability. She’s seen him be strong. Brave. Command a room full of trained agents without a single trace of fear.

But here, with her, he lets her be the strong one. He nestles himself into her arms and lets her comfort him.

Like she is _ his _safe place, too.

“Warden Knox sounds like a real dick,” Felicity grumbles into his hair.

Oliver tilts his head and gives her a look. “He is. But he also did what he had to do to keep the most people safe.”

Maybe that’s part of the problem she’s having in accepting this. It’s hard to think about _ most people _when the fear of losing the love of her life is still raw. “So,” Felicity croaks, “what happens now?”

“Nothing,” Oliver answers quietly, his eyes trained on hers. He reaches up to brush her hair back, looking at her with concern in his eyes. 

Because he knows her. 

Even if he believes that warden Knox did the right thing, Felicity isn’t so sure she sees it that way. Oliver could’ve died, people probably _ did _die, trapped in a cafeteria while all hell broke loose. Oliver may have chosen to go back and help, but where were the other guards? The protocols? Why didn’t Slabside have a better plan in place for something like that? How many guards were forced to fight without any backup? How many prisoners had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had nothing to do with planning a riot? How many people got caught in the cross-hairs?

“Felicity,” Oliver pulls her from her thoughts, the look on his face making her feel like he can read her mind. “Slabside has their own way of dealing with these things. They don’t play by the same rules that we do. That’s just the way it is.”

She remembers learning something along those lines when she was training to join the Bureau. It’s vague and glossed over. Prisons exist like some kind of limbo where laws become gray areas and right and wrong get muddled together. And the worst part is that the government would rather look away than fix the issues.

Unfortunately, it seems too hard for Felicity to look away considering Oliver had been thrown right into the middle of this mess.

Felicity’s eyebrows furrow, his dismissive words not sitting right with her. “You’re saying that nothing gets done?”

Biting his lip, Oliver stares back. “The warden locked the doors. His own men weren’t hesitating to kill, either. It’ll be a trainwreck with the media if the public finds out what happened at Slabside this morning. Knox won’t let that happen.”

There’s resentment in his tone, but far too much acceptance for Felicity’s liking. “All of that and nothing happens? They cover it up?”

Oliver closes his eyes, “they can’t afford a scandal like this.”

She raises an eyebrow in challenge, pulling away from him. “And? Why should we care what they can afford? We're supposed to be the good guys, aren't we?”

“There's a reason that places like Slabside exist, Felicity,” he opens his eyes, his expression pleading with her to understand. “What happens if Slabside gets shut down? I’m sorry, but even after the day I’ve had, I’m not interested in picking that battle.”

As much as Felicity sees his point, she also hates the way he’s talking. “So, we’re just going to pretend that the riot was a big, unpreventable misunderstanding? That’s it?” She doesn’t mean for her tone to be so blunt; so _ accusatory _...but she honestly can’t believe he’s okay with this. “What about the people who died? Do their families get fed some fake, bullshit story in order to keep it quiet?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenching to keep whatever thought crosses his mind from leaving his lips. 

But he holds back.

“That’s not _ it _,” Oliver finally grumbles back. “But I’m the director of the Bureau, I can’t just pop off on a warden. Listen, Knox isn’t blind. He’ll take measures to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It’s not my place.” 

“Where’s the justice in that?” She whispers.

He glances up at her, his eyes flashing with anger that surprises her, given how exhausted he looks. “I know what I’m doing, Felicity.” The words rumble from his chest; that mix between growling and whispering, yet somehow sounding like he’s trying not to raise his voice. “I don’t need a lecture about justice.”

She’s not used to the tension she can feel coming off of him. Anger boiling.

A dozen excuses scroll through her mind, urging her to drop it. But the look in his eyes is impossible to ignore. Why is _ he _ getting upset with _ her _? Felicity can’t help but push, “apparently you do.”

His eyes narrow as her words settle over them. He stares back, and Felicity can tell that he’s biting his tongue. 

“What are you not telling me?”

All it takes is her asking. Like he’d been waiting for it. “There was a guard...Elijah Bennett. I stopped him outside when the riot started and followed him back into the cafeteria. He looked like he hadn’t even seen his twenty first birthday yet. Scared as hell.”

Her stomach turns with his tone, his expression telling her that this doesn’t have a happy ending.

“I gave him my gun and we went inside. I guess in my mind,” Oliver continues, “I’m so used to giving orders and working under pressure...it never really crossed my mind to tell him to stay behind.”

“Oliver…” Felicity’s heart sinks. 

“By the time I found him again, he was face to face with Barton Mathis…” Felicity sucks in a sharp breath, making Oliver pause to look up at her. And she simply nods, silently telling him to keep going. “Mathis had a knife but Bennett had my gun and I...I told him to shoot. He looked _ terrified _...and he didn’t act fast enough.”

“Mathis killed him,” Felicity whispers, saying the words out loud even though it’s already clear that they’re true. 

“Yes,” Oliver answers with a shaky breath. “And it’s my fault.”

“No,” Felicity tightens her arms around him. She knows that he’s telling her this because he thinks he’s to blame. Like some sort of confession. But all it does is drive Felicity’s anger towards Mathis and that warden even more. What happened today, never should have happened. And surely, Oliver doesn’t deserve for it to rest on _ his _ conscience. “It wasn’t your fault, Oliver.” He sighs, not meeting her eyes. So Felicity slips her finger under his chin, gently tilting his head up until he looks at her. “It is _ not _your fault that that boy died,” she tells him confidently, her eyes never leaving his. 

Oliver nods his head slowly, his gaze dropping to her lips. Felicity lets out a deep breath, setting aside her own frustration. “Are you okay?” She mumbles, realizing that she’s hugging herself so close to him that she’s practically on his lap.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” he promises, giving a tired shrug. “I always am.” He leans in to kiss her, lingering for another moment. Then he pulls back, standing up and lifting her with him. His movements are unhurried as he untangles himself and sets her back down on the couch.

“Where are you going?” Felicity frowns.

“To take a shower. And then a nap.” He offers her a small smile, as if to convince her that he really is okay, but Felicity can see right through him. She pinches her lips together. The Bureau won’t be expecting him for at least the rest of the day, but she knows she has work to do and should probably get back there at some point. 

Yet, it’s not often that Oliver needs her. Not in this way, at least.

He doesn’t want to be alone. And she doesn’t want him to be alone.

So when Oliver kisses her head and tells her to have a good day at work, Felicity knows there isn’t a chance she’s leaving.

Oliver closes the bathroom door, but Felicity isn’t very far behind.

He’s already in the shower by the time she slips into the room, the space quickly filling with steam. And she knows he notices her presence when he tips his head in her direction, listening. 

Felicity removes her clothes at record speed, opening the shower door and hurrying to join him under the warm water.

Oliver steps further under the water, turning his head to look down at her. Felicity wraps both of her arms around his waist, plastering herself against his back. 

There’s so much that Oliver doesn’t say. Yet somehow, he always lets her know exactly how he’s feeling. And she can feel the relief in his body, under each rigid muscle as she presses her lips against his shoulders, kissing his skin wherever she can reach. His head drops forward, the water falling down his neck. And his fingers find her arms, slipping down to her hands and nudging her palms to open, splaying them over his stomach so he can lace his fingers through hers.

Oliver relaxes more and more, with each kiss she leaves across his back.

After a while, he twists in Felicity's arms, turning to face her. He meets her eyes, holding her gaze for a long, tense moment. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Oliver Queen,” Felicity shrugs. It’s a simple fact. One she’s been sure of for as long as she’s known him. “If you think we should let this thing with warden Knox go, then we will.”

His eyebrows furrow as he stares down at her, his jaw clenching. “It’s not just about the guard…” Felicity tilts her head in question, running her hands over his shoulders. “Knox is the one keeping Barton Mathis behind bars. If I provoke him…”

The warden is the one who allows the yearly visits and keeps Oliver informed on Barton’s every move. Pissing him off wouldn’t be ideal. Having him on their side is important, but the work the FBI is doing to find Mathis’ victims is bigger. Knox could _ never _hold information about a serial killer over the heads of federal agents and get away with it, could he?

Still, the fact that Oliver sees a need to be cautious is enough to sway Felicity to do the same. She’s never met the man, and Oliver is clearly wary of him. 

It's enough for her.

Cupping Oliver's face between her hands, Felicity looks up into his eyes, “I trust you.”

His eyes soften as he nods. Oliver glides his fingers through her hair, slowly tipping her head back and into the shower stream. He adjusts her hair over her shoulders, pushing it away from her face with care, letting the water cover it.

Felicity shivers from the tender touch, her fingers gripping his arms. 

“All I care about is you, Felicity,” he breathes, looking down at her with an intensity that catches her off guard. She stares up at him with wide, bewildered eyes.

It’s not that she doesn’t believe him. It’s just that hearing him talk like this always makes her a little breathless.

And Oliver stares back at her with unwavering, patient confidence, as if he’s inviting her to see the truth of his words. Offering her to see everything inside of him, an open book. “I just want you safe.”

* * *

It’s perfect. And Oliver knows that it’s perfect. He knows she’ll love it. He already daydreams about it on her finger constantly. It’s his favorite place to let his mind wander. 

With Felicity’s head on his chest, Oliver glances down at her sleeping form. Her hand spread out in front of her face, her fingers curled lightly into his t-shirt. And he looks back up at the ring, still in its box, as he holds it up to the light.

The diamond catches the light coming in from the hallway, and Oliver rubs his finger over the curve of the band. Deep down, he knows that he and Felicity want all of the same things. A wedding, and a family, and a life together. One where they don’t have to tip-toe around headquarters or worry about what people think.

He wants Felicity Smoak to be his wife.

But in order to have all of that, she has to say yes.

Rationally, he has a good guess about what Felicity’s answer would be. Sometimes he wonders if she’s waiting for him to choose the right moment just as much as he is. And then other times, like when he’s laying in bed with her and looking at the ring, he fantasizes about waking her up, tossing aside every fear he’s holding on to and ignoring his desire to make it _ perfect _. He imagines asking her to marry him right then and there.

In this moment.

And just like a handful of nights before, Oliver’s heart picks up speed as he considers it. But then Felicity’s fingers clench around his shirt, and a tiny whimper leaves her lips. He picks his head up so he can see her, watching as her eyebrows furrow, her body growing stiff.

Oliver snaps the lid on the ring shut, shoving it under his pillow before he slides out from under Felicity. He eases her onto her back, looking down at her face as he hovers over her. The peacefulness is gone, replaced by a dream that has clearly taken a turn for the worst.

“Felicity,” he whispers her name quietly, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Felicity, wake up.”

She shivers beneath him, prompting Oliver to lower his body to hers, bracing his arms on either side of her head. “Wake up,” he says a little louder, casting his fingers through her hair. “Honey...” Oliver consciously keeps his hands gentle and his movements slow, trying to shake her from the night terror without making matters worse. 

Her body grows tense beneath him, locking up, and her lip quivers as if even in her nightmare, she knows what it means. “Felicity!” He calls her name, unintended urgency in his tone. He’s learned that it’s not exactly smart to startle her awake, but the alternative scares him even more. If she wakes up on her own, she’ll be stark with fear and unable to move.

And if he’s being honest, there’s nothing he hates more than having to calm Felicity in those moments. It scares him to acknowledge how much it scares her. It breaks his heart to imagine the dream she’s having, the same one she’s described to him before. It kills him to know what she’s seeing behind her eyelids right now. And he’ll take the alternative any day. “Felicity!” He gives her shoulders a sharp, little shake.

This time, her eyes snap open, wide with terror as she’s ripped from the nightmare. She gasps as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her fingernails sink into his arms with the adrenaline that courses through her body, breaking skin.

Oliver winces as her nails pierce him, and she digs them in even harder in her confusion. “Felicity,” he whispers her name this time, watching as she stares up at him, complete terror written all over her face. And her grip on his arms grows even tighter, as if it’s not him that she’s seeing in front of her.

“Baby, it’s me.”

Felicity blinks, her eyes filling with tears. And Oliver can see the moment she recognizes her surroundings. Recognizes him. Recognizes that she’s safe.

Finally, she loosens her grip, her hands going limp while she stares up him. The dull sting on his arms indicates that she’s left marks on his skin, but he doesn’t dare look away from her. When Felicity releases a shaky breath, the ardor of the dream draining out of her, Oliver pushes a smile onto his face. “Hi,” he breathes, lowering his weight onto her more, feeling her shiver and hoping that he's shielding her somehow.

“Hi,” Felicity croaks in response, her eyes closing instinctively as Oliver touches the tip of his nose to the tip of hers. 

He pulls back slowly, his chest tightening as he looks down at her. Felicity keeps her eyes down, her eyelashes wet with tears that she’s trying to blink back. Oliver notices her lip tremble for just a moment, before she bites it. “Honey,” he brushes his thumbs across her temples.

Oliver ducks his head closer, trying to meet her gaze, assuming that she’s hiding from him. 

“I’m sorry,” Felicity sighs, still not looking at him. “Oliver, I’m so sorry.”

It’s not until her index finger hovers over the scratches on one of his arms that he realizes what she’s talking about.

He turns onto his back, pulling his arm away from her hesitant hand and wrapping it around her instead. “Don’t be sorry,” Oliver answers, pulling her close again. 

Two years ago, she’d accidentally kicked him in the groin when he’d tried to wake her up from a nightmare once. The damage from her nails was nothing compared to that surprise. Besides, the bodily risks were clear, and it was still a better option than letting her wake through sleep paralysis. The only option as far as he was concerned, actually. 

Felicity tilts her head on his shoulder, looking up at his face. “I don’t know how you put up with this.”

“It’s not your fault,” he mumbles instantly, finally settling down enough to close his eyes. But he can practically hear Felicity’s mind racing, and he doesn’t have to see her to know that she’s worrying about something. 

Tipping his head, Oliver looks down his nose at Felicity. And she takes her eyes off of the ceiling to meet his gaze. She opens her mouth, and then closes it. He waits, raising an eyebrow in question. 

After a moment, where she searches for the right words and he watches her patiently, Felicity sighs. “I’ve always thought of myself as easy going,” she says with a shrug. “It’s not very hard to make me happy. I’ve never gotten the impression from people I’ve dated that I’m high maintenance or anything like that...well, besides that one finals week in college when I was sick and starving and sleep deprived and basically living in the library because my roommate wanted to sleep with her graduating boy toy instead of studying for her own exams. Cooper thought I was _ super _demanding when I asked him for things but he was also kind of an asshole so I didn’t really care if he thought I was—”

“Felicity,” Oliver huffs, interrupting with a good-natured smile. She pinches her lips together, stopping herself. “You are _ not _high maintenance.” 

She’s exactly right. It’s easy to make her happy. She’s kind hearted, and charming, and _ bright _. And Felicity Smoak makes it very easy to love her.

Nodding, she returns his smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “The last two years have just made me realize...I have a lot of baggage.”

Oliver shakes his head, rubbing his nose against hers. “Everyone does, Felicity. But there’s no one like you. I’d want you, no matter what. No matter the baggage.”

“But have you ever thought...” She bites her lip, wincing at her own thoughts before she voices them. “Do you ever just think you’d be happier with someone else?” Felicity lifts his hand off his chest, gesturing to the scrapes from her nails. “Someone who doesn’t scratch the shit out of you because she’s dreaming about the serial killer who buried her alive?”

Sighing, Oliver shakes his head again. “No.”

Felicity frowns, “‘no’ what?”

“No, I’ve never thought that I’d be happier with someone else.” Oliver looks into her eyes, making his point as clear as he possibly can. “I’m never going to be happier with someone else, Felicity. When I think of what I want in five years...ten years down the line..._ twenty _...all I know for sure is that I want you to be there with me. I can’t even imagine not being with you.”

He remembers the ring under his pillow. And suddenly it feels like it’s burning a hole through their mattress. 

Felicity scoots closer, pressing her body flush up against him in the space she’s carved out for herself; in his bed and in his heart. It’s where he’s welcomed her without a single reservation or hesitation. “I can’t imagine my life without you anymore, either,” Felicity whispers back.

She’s _ it _for him. 

For a split second, Oliver considers taking the ring out, showing her how serious he is about how he feels.

But then he thinks better. 

He doesn’t want to ask her as if he's trying to prove something. And he doesn’t want the memory tainted by this conversation; the doubts, her nightmares, and Barton Mathis.

Those factors may have played a role in how they met. And all of it is still very much a part of their lives. Impossible to forget. But it’s also part of their past. And when he asks Felicity to marry him, Oliver _ needs _ them to be focused on the future. It doesn't have to be perfect, but it shouldn't be _now_. After she'd just asked him if he'd be happier with someone else. When they're exhausted and the day had already been an emotional roller-coaster.

So he bites his tongue. And holds Felicity a little tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too scary! So much cute Olicity! Did it make you forget this is a Suspense/Thriller fic? That was my evil plan. Don't get too cozy yet... ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!!


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of her heels clicking down the hallway makes Felicity melt into the comfort of normalcy. The first time she stepped foot in the federal building had been an experience that was wrapped up in terror and confusion. Now, the hallways have become something of a home to her.

Between the nightmares lately, Oliver’s visit to Slabside, and their disagreement over warden Knox, it’s good to finally feel like the dust is settling. To let things go back to normal. Even though getting out of bed this morning had been the last thing Felicity wanted to do, she’s glad that she’d made it in on time for her appointment with Dr. Haynes.

Oliver had looked much better this morning, too. Almost too good to leave him in bed all alone.

As she rounds the corner towards her desk, Felicity pulls out her phone, checking the time and contemplating how quickly she can make a coffee run before her coworkers start flooding the building. 

In the years before she started with the FBI, she never would’ve guessed that she’d be the first car in the parking lot. Mornings have always been her arch nemesis, or so she thought. But now the quietness of the empty building is something she enjoys. There’s less pressure on her appointments with Dr. Haynes, too. Not having to worry about whether or not her colleagues will see her coming and going her therapist’s office.

She can just appreciate the calm before the storm that is day to day life working with federal agents.

Stepping into the elevator, Felicity reads a message her boyfriend had sent earlier: _ No good morning or goodbye? This is not how I like to start my day, Smoak. _

Biting her lip to stop herself from grinning, Felicity types her response, imagining Oliver’s little frown and messy bed-hair when he realized he was alone this morning: _ You looked too peaceful to bother, _she answers.

Oliver’s response comes before the doors have even closed: _ Come to my office. _

Felicity frowns as she rides the elevator up to their floor, peeking her head down the hallway: _ Now? _

Oliver wasn’t usually one to get into work early unless he had a reason to. And the hallway leading to his office kind of gave her the creeps. She much preferred her and Curtis’ area. Lots of lights and windows. 

Staring down the hallway towards his closed door, Felicity shifts on her feet. And when her phone vibrates with Oliver’s response, she jumps. _ Yes, _ he texts back, _ now. Please. _

Straightening her shoulders, she makes her way to Oliver’s office. There are numerous conference rooms along the way, full of progress and evidence in various cases that detectives had abandoned for the night. Felicity usually doesn’t mind the crime scene photos that hang all over the walls in those rooms; when the place is full of people and noise. But now, it feels eerie and she does her best not to look inside. 

All of the overhead lights remain off, adding an extra layer of creepiness.

When Felicity reaches Oliver’s office, she stops for a moment to listen, not hearing anything behind the closed door.

She tries to remember how relaxed she’d been just a moment ago; walking out of Dr. Haynes’ office and daydreaming about Oliver while she made tough decisions about coffee. 

Instead of opening the door, Felicity fishes out her phone again, texting Oliver: _ You’re here? _

Her breath catches in her throat when she hears his phone chime from inside his office, when she looks down and sees him typing. _ Yes, Felicity, _ he replies, and she can almost hear the way he sighs her name, his exasperated chuckle to go along with the text. _ Come up when you’re done with Dr. Haynes. I want to say good morning ;) _

Rolling her eyes, Felicity puts her hand on the doorknob, knowing that Oliver must be waiting. Then she looks over her shoulder one more time, telling herself she’s being silly while she attempts to shake the eeriness of a vacant Bureau. 

Before Felicity can turn back around, the door whips open, yanking her arm along with it. And she yelps as she crashes into a firm, familiar chest.

“Felicity,” Oliver huffs her name, just as surprised as she is to find her stumbling into him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Felicity heaves, instantly comforted to feel his arms around her, even if he’s currently trying to stop her from falling face first onto the floor.

Oliver steadies both of them, raising an eyebrow at her as she catches her breath. He notices quickly that she’s flustered, his hands running down both of her arms, “what are you doing?”

“Coming to see you,” she gasps. “And maybe getting a little freaked out because your text was really cryptic and the hallway was really dark and your door was closed and I couldn’t really hear anything so I was just like, _ what’s going on, _ you know? Why are you here so early?”

Oliver opens his mouth, letting out a breathy laugh as he shakes his head at her. “I’m sorry if my text was cryptic. I was going for exciting and mysterious.” She laughs too, rubbing her hand over his chest. “I couldn’t fall back asleep once I woke up and you weren’t there, so I came in early.”

She releases a sharp breath, relaxing again into the comfortable, good mood she’d been in after leaving Dr. Haynes. “Forgiven.”

Oliver smiles, turning away from her and picking up a cup from his desk. Felicity groans as soon as she smells the warm coffee, her fingers reaching for it. “This was supposed to get me some ‘best boyfriend’ points, but I guess now it’s apology caffeine.”

Licking her lips, Felicity takes the cup, humming as it warms her hands. “Maple latte?” She asks, taking a whiff, and Oliver nods. “Oh, you _ are _the best. A million boyfriend points for you.”

Chuckling, Oliver leans back against his desk, and Felicity finally takes a moment to appreciate him, watching him over her cup.

He’s no stranger to a nice suit and tie. And Felicity is no stranger to seeing him wearing them. But it’s usually when she’s half asleep in the morning. Or when he’s exhausted after a long day. It’s different to see him like this, sleeves rolled up, tie on straight, hair carefully fixed how he likes it. 

And it’s rare that she gets to admire him in his element like this. Since they work in a building full of perceptive agents, with eyes always on them, there’s no point in trying to be sneaky about their relationship. No reason to hide it.

After the ordeal with the Dollmaker, Felicity’s attachment to Oliver was impossible to deny, anyway. And even though Oliver likes to think he’s cunning, she’s pretty sure that his attraction to her didn’t go unnoticed two years ago, either.

So now, the only thing for them to do is to be professional when they’re at work. Which unfortunately means Felicity doesn’t get to drop by his office unless she has a good reason, and he doesn’t ask her to, either.

Oliver quirks an eyebrow as he stares at her, clearly reading her expression perfectly. She’s never had much of a poker face. “Come here,” he whispers.

She doesn’t need to be asked _ that _twice. Felicity quickly crosses the room to him, abandoning her latte on his desk and forgetting about it. She focuses on him instead; grazing her fingers over his stubbled jaw, enjoying the fact that he hadn’t shaved this morning.

Without a word, Oliver brings his hands to her hips, sitting on his desk with one foot on the floor, the other dangling as he guides her between his legs. He leaves a chaste kiss on her lips, letting his mouth linger over hers for a brief moment before kissing her again. 

“Good morning, baby,” he groans from somewhere deep in his chest.

Smiling, she nips at his bottom lip, her hands landing on his knees and she squeezes. “Good morning," Felicity hums back. Then she tips her head back, wiping her thumb over his bottom lip where she’d marked him with a tiny smudge of gloss.

“How was your session?” Oliver sighs, content as if he can finally start his day happily now that they’ve had their moment. And Felicity couldn’t agree more.

“Awesome,” she answers, knowing that her boyfriend will accept that simple answer without pressing the subject. But after a while, Felicity found that she liked talking to Oliver about her time with Dr. Haynes. It helped make her feel normal, rather than as if she was trying to hide a part of herself from him. Oliver was beyond supportive, and of course he hadn't once judged her or held something she shared against her. He'd even come to a few of her sessions before. “I told her about the nightmares lately, and she doesn't seem to think I'm insane, so I guess that's good. You and Dr. Haynes tend to tell me all the same things. It makes me feel less crazy, but then I wonder what I'm paying her for.”

Oliver grins, opening his eyes as he curls his arms around her waist to pull her closer, “you’re not crazy, Felicity.”

“Oh look at that,” Felicity smiles back, tilting her head to the side. “You sound just like her.”

He chuckles, moving to stand up. Oliver brushes by her, rounding his desk to reach his chair. As he sits, he glances up at her, his eyes wide and hopeful, “stay for a bit?” He shrugs, gesturing to the chair across from him. 

It still amazes her how much time they can spend together without growing sick of each other. Felicity isn't sure how much of his life she could've missed since the night before, but she can't deny that she wants nothing more than to sit and talk to him over a cup of coffee. The intimate simplicity of it excites her now just as much as it had when they'd barely known each other.

And god, she’d be a stronger woman if she ever finds a way to say no to that face.

But for today, she doesn’t want to. 

Felicity grabs her coffee, then smoothes her skirt down as she takes a seat across from him. 

The distance is for the best, considering where they are and the fact that his team will be trickling into the office any minute. The desk between them is good, especially when Felicity notices that she hadn't gotten all of her lipstick off his mouth. And a moment later, when she catches his eyes trailing the length of her legs...

“So,” Felicity clears her throat. “What’s on the agenda for you today?”

Oliver leans back in his chair, arching an eyebrow as he looks back at her. When he doesn’t move to get up, Felicity bites her lip. And all of her thoughts about being good are thrown out the window.

She gets up to close the door before making her way over to him. And then Felicity slides onto his lap, draping one arm around his neck while the other lands on his shoulder. Oliver grins up at her, that dimple on his left cheek appearing, looking way too adorable for Felicity not to run her index finger over it.

“I have meetings all morning," he shrugs. "What if I just hide out in here with you all day instead?” Oliver whispers, dropping his hand to her knee. 

Felicity shivers as his thumb rubs a slow, warm circle over her. “I don't think your team will be too enthusiastic about that.”

"Mm," Oliver gives her an unbothered hum. "But would you?" He smirks, his eyes glinting with devilish charm. "Be _enthusiastic about it_, I mean?" His warm palm stretches over her thigh, pulling her closer.

Feeling goosebumps rise on her bare skin, Felicity folds one leg over her other. Fighting another shiver, she leans more of her weight against Oliver’s chest.

One of his hands moves up her body, climbing slowly until his fingers reach her neck. He gently cups the back of her head, urging her down to meet his lips while he smirks up at her.

And she kisses him slowly. Carefully. Because something about her good mood, the fact that they’re at work, and how _ hot _he looks...makes the moment feel easy to get caught up in. Lost in. And Felicity knows that getting carried away isn’t a good idea.

Not here, at least.

Despite her awareness just a kiss before, Felicity doesn’t even try to stop him when he deepens the next one. She hears a guttural groan escape his lips, dark and needy where it rumbles from his throat. And she’s always been a sucker for that sound. His ragged breath spurs her on, making her forget all of her surroundings while her brain focuses on _ him_.

“Felicity…” his shaky voice echoes between them, like he’s pleading with her. And it’s crazy how willing she is to give him everything. Anything.

A moment later, Oliver subtly dips his hand between her legs, and her knee falls open on instinct, welcoming him. He lets his fingers roam, slow and soft, higher and higher up her thigh.

His tongue slips out to taste her bottom lip, leaving her squirming on his lap as she tries to get closer.

Oliver’s thumb is just circling the soft spot of her inner thigh, sparking more goosebumps to cover her skin, when a knock at the door interrupts him. 

Felicity gasps at the sharp sound, and Oliver freezes, drawing his lips back but keeping his hands firm on her leg. He stops her when she instantly starts to move off of him.

Instead, Oliver shakes his head, rubbing his nose against hers as he whispers, “it’s probably just Roy. He’ll go away.”

Sucking in a breath, Felicity closes her eyes. She pauses for a moment, tempted by his hooded gaze and heavy fingers anchoring her to his lap. “Are you sure you don’t need to get that?” She asks, grasping at the collar of his shirt.

Oliver doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to her lips.

She’s almost ready to give in, gravitating towards him again, when another knock sounds from the hallway. Felicity leans back quickly, and this time Oliver lets her go, grumbling something under his breath that she doesn’t catch.

“One minute,” he calls to the person on the other side of the door, sounding utterly irritated by the interruption. 

Felicity stands, smoothing her hair back into place as she checks her clothes, making sure Oliver hadn’t undone a button or two without her noticing.

“Wait,” she squeaks, stopping Oliver on his path to the door. 

Felicity tries not to laugh as she hurries over to him, untucking the bottom of her shirt so she can wipe some lingering lipstick off his face. 

It doesn’t help that Oliver smirks at her with all his boyish allure while she does it. No, that only makes her want to kiss him again.

Fighting the urge, Felicity steps back. “Okay,” she sighs, quickly tucking her shirt back in.

Roy knows about their relationship, just like the rest of Oliver’s team. But that doesn’t mean they need or want to be the source of today’s gossiping. Truly, it fascinates Felicity how similar federal agents are to high school students when they’re bored.

As Oliver opens the door, Felicity fidgets behind him, pretending to be preoccupied with a pen on his desk. She’s sure that Roy will see right through her and know as soon as he sees them what they’ve been up to, but she plays innocent anyway.

“Felicity,” 

Her eyes widen, darting up to the door when she realizes it isn’t Roy standing in Oliver’s office. The man looks just as surprised to see her as she is to see him. Felicity drops the pen, straightening her back and glancing to Oliver. “Good morning, agent Blackthorne,” she breathes, hoping that she sounds more casual than she feels.

The agent’s eyes flicker between Oliver and Felicity, picking up on something. Oliver’s expression is stone cold, a hard wall of tight-lipped innocence. And oppositely, Felicity knows she looks flustered at best. “I just stopped by to drop off the report you requested on Stanley Dover.” When Oliver stares at him blankly, Carter Blackthorne raises an eyebrow, “inmate 22010 at Slabside? I was told you wanted our documents on him.”

“I didn’t realize you ran errands for the BAU, agent Blackthorne.”

Carter shrugs, “this was one of the toughest cases we’ve ever had. Most of my team had never profiled a killer quite as vicious as the Star City Slayer. It put all of our minds at ease when we finally caught him. I was hoping you could do the same for me here, Director Queen...and tell me what you want with him?”

“Just information,” Oliver replies simply, unfazed. “Maybe you could tell me a bit about the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s experience with him.” He walks around his desk, inviting Blackthorne to sit down rather than reaching for the file that would surely have all the information he wants to know.

There’s an uneasy feeling that hangs in the room. Part of it is the tension between Oliver and the head of the BAU. But most of the tension rests between Oliver and Felicity, and the fact that Oliver hadn’t mentioned any _ other _serial killers catching his attention at the prison. 

She narrows her eyes at her boyfriend just as agent Blackthorne turns his back to her. And Oliver looks at her with wide and innocent eyes, pinching his lips together as he leans back in his chair.

With the two men sitting across from each other, Felicity clears her throat. “Well, I better get going. It was nice to see you, agent Blackthorne. As always, let me know if your team needs my help with any of your cases today.”

Carter nods, offering her a tight smile. “Thank you, Felicity.”

“Okay,” she claps her hands together, feeling the pressure to leave. Blackthorne is a real stick in the mud, a live and breathe by the rules kind of guy, and he’s not exactly someone that Felicity goes out of her way to see. In fact, his frigid demeanor and robotic expression kind of makes her want to avoid him when she can.

“Thanks for helping me, Oliver,” Felicity waves her hand, moving towards the door. “With that thing I needed. The _ work _ thing I needed. But you _ don’t _need me here for this conversation. Curtis has a laptop belonging to a disgruntled wife who killed her cheating husband, and his mistresses,” she winces. “He asked me to help access it and look for incriminating evidence, so, you know, busy morning for this girl.”

Oliver fights a smile, nodding along. “Thank you for coming in, agent Smoak.”

“Any time, Director Queen,” she feels a blush rising on her neck, hating the salacious thrill that runs through her whenever she refers to him formally. As if she doesn't know how his hands feel when he's desperate to touch every inch of her. As if he hasn't seen her naked. As if they don't know each other from body to soul.

“Let me know if I can help you with anything else, Felicity,” Oliver offers when she continues to stand in the doorway, his expression making it clear that he knows just where her thoughts have wandered. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

She pauses, awkwardly glancing back at Oliver over her shoulder. And she’s holding her breath, practically grumbling through her teeth, “I’ll see you later.”

And then she gapes at him, her eyes widening as she realizes her words. “Or not. See you whenever I see you. Okay, bye!”

Walking out of his office, Felicity finally lets herself breathe again. One day, she’ll be able to keep her composure like the agents she works with. Unfortunately, a little less anxiety and a lot less babbling would’ve come in handy _ today_.

And to top it off, she’d forgotten her coffee in Oliver’s office.

Felicity groans, dragging her feet as she makes her way across the building to the area the FBI has given to her and Curtis Holt to use.

She gets settled in before Curtis arrives, happy to at least have a little bit of time to herself before the whirlwind that is her coworker blows through the office. It also gives her time to think. About Oliver. About someone known as _ the Star City Slayer _ who Oliver has apparently requested information on. It must be important if he asked for the case files on Stanley Dover. So Felicity isn’t sure why Oliver didn’t mentioned it sooner. 

Five minutes after 7:00, Curtis rushes clumsily through the door, just as jumbled as most mornings. He drops his things on his desk, catching his breath while he glances up at her. Felicity cocks her head to the side, “you’re late. Again.”

Curtis huffs, “yeah, yeah, whatever.” But his eyes shift to the door again, and he cringes as he looks back at her, “Oliver hasn’t noticed, has he?”

“Nope,” Felicity shrugs. “He’s meeting with Carter Blackthorne.”

Raising an eyebrow, Curtis takes off his coat, getting organized, or as organized as he’s capable of, for the day. “Did the BAU screw something up?”

Felicity shakes her head, watching as Curtis retrieves the laptop they need to work on today, bringing it over to the table in the middle of the room. She follows him without a word, and Curtis drops the subject, knowing well enough by now that he doesn’t try to push it if Felicity isn’t willing to share.

Luckily, the information they pull from the laptop is useful, and interesting, enough to distract her from wondering about Oliver. They make quick work of it; a sad, vengeful housewife who didn’t think to encrypt _ anything _on the device. 

Within twenty minutes, Felicity and Curtis are elbows deep in incriminating emails between the housewife and her accomplice, knowing that it’s more than enough for a conviction. “Well,” Curtis smiles, “another one in the books for team Holt-Smoak.”

Giving him a look, Felicity shakes her head.

“Smoak-Holt?” Her friend asks hopefully, and Felicity chuckles. “We can work on it,” he shrugs, getting back to the emails.

A while later, Oliver appears in the doorway, tapping his knuckles against the window to get both of their attention.

“Hey,” he smiles crookedly, holding out a coffee cup. “I might’ve finished yours, but I got you another one.”

Oliver spares Curtis a wave as Felicity crosses the room to him, taking the cup from his hands. This time when Felicity leans in to kiss him, she doesn’t stop herself. And Oliver kisses her back just as easily.

If anyone is used to it, it’s Curtis.

“Thank you,” Felicity whispers, squeezing his hand as she takes a sip. Curtis has also grown used to ignoring them, which he does happily. Felicity takes a small step closer to her boyfriend, still keeping her voice down as she asks, “what was that about, this morning with Blackthorne?”

Oliver lifts a shoulder, his eyes dropping to his hand tangled with hers. “Nothing to worry about,” he rubs his thumb over her fingers, “Remember I told you about that inmate who knocked Mathis out?” Felicity nods, urging him to continue. “I just had a weird vibe about him,” Oliver shrugs, “I asked Dig to find some information on him.”

“On a serial killer that the BAU took down?” Felicity questions, a little too loudly.

Oliver huffs, placing a hand on her shoulder as he throws a glance at Curtis. “To be fair, I didn’t know he was a serial killer, or that the BAU caught him when I asked John to get me his arrest record. I just wanted to know his story. Apparently the BAU had a hell of a time with him.”

Felicity’s eyebrows furrow in concern, “and you don’t think this is anything to worry about?”

“No,” Oliver smiles down at her, tightening his grip on her shoulder, silently telling her to _ relax_. “I requested his file mostly out of curiosity, Felicity. Just a precaution so that I know who the man is and what he’d done. But he’s incarcerated...and so is Barton Mathis. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

When she looks into his eyes, Felicity can see that Oliver believes that with his whole heart. Everything is fine. And his quiet assurance makes her feel better.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay,” Felicity answers with a nod.

Oliver looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m okay,” he winks before leaning closer to whisper in her ear, “but I’ll be even better once we finish what we started this morning.”

Felicity shivers, smoothing her hand down his chest, stopping him from stepping even _ closer_, if only to honor the ‘no PDA at work’ agreement they’d made two years ago and somehow upheld. For the most part.

“Well,” she breathes, “It’s a date, then. You, me, dinner, wine. Tonight.”

His nose grazes her ear as he hums, “sounds perfect. I can’t wait to—”

“Director Queen,”

Felicity pushes Oliver back, a surprised yelp escaping her. She glances over his shoulder to see Roy Harper shuffling his feet behind them, clearly uncomfortable to have to interrupt. And that’s why they made their agreement.

Biting her lip, Felicity tries not to laugh...because once again, Oliver looks entirely too irritated by the disturbance. “Sorry to interrupt,” Roy continues, “warden Knox is on the phone for you. He says it’s important.”

Felicity frowns, her hand on Oliver’s tie tightening. And he clenches his jaw, nodding once to his agent. With a sigh, Oliver looks back at her, “don’t worry,” he reminds her. “He probably just wants my side of everything from the riot.” 

Oliver raises his index finger to Felicity’s forehead, gently smoothing it over the line on her skin that clearly indicates her concern. Then he leans in, pressing a quick kiss against her head.

“Text me, please,” she pinches her lips together, saying more to him with one look than she could ever manage with words. _ Tell me if I have a reason to worry. _

Oliver nods back, understanding.

* * *

Felicity’s stomach is grumbling by the time she and Curtis are done with the laptop. 

“I have to drop this off downstairs,” Curtis says, packing up the device. “Want me to pick up lunch?”

“Oh,” her stomach growls again. “Yes please.” Then she pouts, making a face at her coworker. “Just no more Big Belly Burger, okay? Not only do the fitness junkies around here judge us, but I am actually getting sick of it.” Her frown deepens, “that’s not something I ever thought I’d say.”

Curtis chuckles, grabbing his coat as he turns to leave. “No Big Belly,” he answers, pointing a finger at her, “got it. Sushi good?”

Felicity nods excitedly, perking up in her chair. “Sushi good.”

Once he’s out of the room, Felicity pushes back from her chair, unplugging her laptop and holding it in one hand while she walks around the room, stretching her legs and looking over their notes on the murderous housewife.

Whenever she and Curtis help on a case, their work is often messy and somewhat asinine, but it makes perfect sense _ to them_. They work well together, it just requires some editing before they send off their findings to the agents spearheading the cases.

“Ack,” Felicity cringes, reading through some of their completely irrelevant, spiraling rants. As she passes by the window, she catches sight of Roy Harper coming up from the stairwell. He pushes through the door roughly, letting it slam against the wall.

Felicity quickly sets her laptop back on the table, her heart speeding up when she notices how annoyed Harper looks. The last time she saw him, he’d been informing Oliver about Knox’s call. And now he’s pissed off. She hurries out of her area, moving faster than a girl should in high heels as she tries to catch up to Roy.

“Hey,” Felicity reaches him halfway down the hall, grabbing his elbow and spinning him around. “What’s going on?”

Roy scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Your boyfriend is being a dick.” Felicity raises an eyebrow, and Roy swallows, getting control of his temper. “He’s sending me to Slabside to ‘check in’ with the warden.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not a damn babysitter.”

Trying not to roll her eyes, Felicity crosses her arms. “After the riot, I’m sure Oliver just wants to make sure everything is safe at the prison and running smoothly again.”

“Yeah,” Roy grumbles, “which is easily a job for one of the rookies.”

She narrows her eyes at him, wanting to slap the hot-head for not seeing the bigger picture. Felicity could see in two seconds why Oliver would task Roy with this. “Maybe he needs someone to do it who he can _ trust_, Roy.” She shivers, glancing away from her friend. “Who knows what Barton Mathis has up his sleeve these days. Or warden Knox for that matter.”

Considering her words, Roy hesitates. And after a moment, he deflates, finally getting her point. “Warden Knox has Mathis in solitary confinement,” he explains. “For killing a guard during the riot. That asshole isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Oh,” Felicity nods, all too pleased to picture Barton Mathis alone in some dark hole. “Good.”

With the knowledge that the Dollmaker is trapped in a separate prison inside his prison, Felicity gets an idea. The wheels turn in her head, a door of possibilities opening that she hasn’t been able to consider before.

“I have to get going,” Roy says. “If I want to make it to Slabside and back without Thea breaking up with me, then I can’t be late for dinner tonight.” He sighs, already moving away from her as he continues to complain. “Part of me still thinks this all Oliver’s evil plan to get his sister to dump me.”

“I’ll tag along,” Felicity blurts. The idea of going to Slabside instantly makes her stomach churn. But for some reason, with the opportunity presenting itself and all the right pieces coming into place, Felicity is sure that she has to do it. Roy will be there. Mathis will be occupied in that nice, lonely, dark hole. She could have a chance to meet the shady warden Knox. And on top of everything… “It sounds like Slabside could use consult about their security. I’d be happy to assess their systems to make sure they don’t have another riot on their hands.”

Roy’s eyebrows furrow, “I don’t know….”

Felicity shrugs it off, walking by him with more confidence in her stride than she feels in her bones. “It’s fine. Oliver and I already talked about me helping Knox update their security measures.”

What’s a little white lie, in the grand scheme of things?

“Besides," Felicity raises her chin, "you just said yourself that Barton Mathis is in solitary confinement. What’s the worst that could happen?”

When Roy still doesn’t look quite convinced, Felicity straightens her shoulders, brushing by him. “Come on,” she rolls her eyes at her friend, walking quickly and confidently towards the parking lot.

This could be the key to figuring out warden Knox’s game. Or it could be a huge mistake...and Felicity hasn’t had enough time to think through her plan to decide which one it is.

She continues down the hall anyway, holding her breath and waiting for the sound of Roy’s footsteps to catch up to her. She’s really hoping that he’ll simply follow her without further arguments, complaints, or questions.

And after a few moments, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. This can't be heading anywhere good, now can it? ;) Get ready for some Halloween craziness!


	5. Chapter 5

Barton Mathis.

Sometimes he’s still the first thought Felicity has when she wakes up. And when she opens her eyes, remembering her surroundings, she’s not surprised that he’s on her mind. How could he not be, when she’s in a car that’s bringing her to Slabside?

Every now and then, her recurring nightmare sends her hurtling back to the darkest time in her life. And on those days, it takes her a little while longer to come out of the fog, to shake the demons off her back.

But she always does.

Her trauma has been made bearable, _ survivable_, over the course of two years, for many reasons. It isn’t hard for Felicity to remember the things that make her feel whole. The people in her life who keep her grounded and human.

Whenever Felicity feels that weight on her chest, she focuses her thoughts on the things that make her laugh, make her happy, and give her purpose. And with time, it’s a pain that has has grown less sharp. It doesn’t take her breath away like it once had, just to think about the Dollmaker and what he’d planned to do to her.

Dr. Haynes has always told her not to ignore her demons, but not to let them devour her either. And she’s spent the past two years surrounding herself with people who help her find that balance. People who aren't afraid of those demons. Oliver, especially. He fights them as fiercely as she does. In hindsight of the horror she’d survived, there’s not much more she could ask for in a partner.

Which only makes her start to feel very, very guilty the closer she gets to Slabside. Oliver must understand why she can’t sit around and wait to see what happens. He knows her well enough. When it comes to the people she loves and their safety, she can’t take a backseat. From the moment he met her, he must have seen that. She’d insisted that she help in her _ own _case with the FBI, after all.

This shouldn’t be any different.

Besides, she’d meant what she said to Roy Harper. She can help warden Knox with his security. If this is the place that expects to hold Barton Mathis, then there’s no one Felicity trusts more than herself to make sure the prison is capable. And if Oliver plans to continue visiting Mathis to get the names of his victims, then she needs to do whatever she can to keep him safe while he’s there.

These are the things Felicity tells herself as she sits in the passenger seat of Roy’s car, bound for Slabside. She’d made a split, somewhat impulsive decision to come here, and now she can’t help but feel guilty.

Oliver won’t like this.

Felicity bites her lip, staring out the window while miles and miles of desert stretch before them.

Beside her, Roy shifts in his seat, flexing and relaxing his hands on the wheel as he tosses her looks out of the corner of his eye. The closer they get to Slabside, the more nervous Felicity becomes, and ultimately, the more Roy notices. Still, it takes him longer than Felicity would’ve guessed for him to finally confront it. “Oliver doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

She winces, looking back at him with an apology ready. They both know that Oliver won’t approve. And he’ll blame Roy just as much, if not more, than he’ll blame Felicity. Her expression confirms his suspicion, and Roy curses under his breath. They both also know that it’s too late to turn back. “You lied to me, Smoak? After I took a bullet for you? That’s low.”

“Hey!” Felicity shoots her hand out, slapping Roy’s arm. “It was a knife. And I think I’ve more than made up for it; all the times I’ve saved your ass since then.” In response, Roy grins, not bothering to argue with the truth. “So,” Felicity crinkles her nose, giving him a strange look. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” Roy shrugs, indifferent. “Pissing Oliver off is basically one of my daily tasks. And you’re going to wait in the car while I check in with the warden anyway, so no. I’m not mad.”

Felicity frowns, pursing her lips to keep from arguing, but not agreeing with _ that _plan, either.

* * *

Oliver isn’t sure what it is about _ today _ that has him on edge. He’s spent two years navigating slippery slopes with the Bureau, all while he and Felicity fell in love. It’d had its rough patches, awkward conversations, and difficult days. But they managed. They learned how to separate work from home, at least for the most part. He likes to think that he’s gotten good at compartmentalizing.

Yet for some reason, all Oliver wants to do today is be with Felicity.

After her night terrors, and the Slabside riot, and an overall _ bad _morning thanks to the visit from Carter Blackthorne...Oliver walks to Felicity’s office, after finding a reason to see her again. 

When he reaches the door, he notices Curtis in their shared space, but Felicity isn’t there. Oliver tries not to pout as he knocks on the door frame. “Hey,” he greets Curtis, scanning the room again, just in case he hadn’t seen her somewhere in their mess. “I was just going to ask Felicity if she wanted to get lunch. Is she around?”

“No,” Curtis frowns. “She went out. Well, _I_ went out to get us sushi but I guess she made other plans.” He gestures towards the mini fridge in the corner of the room, “you’re welcome to her Tempura if you’re hungry. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

Ignoring the offer, Oliver turns towards the door, trying not to look too disappointed. But before he holds himself up in his office again, he leans back to Curtis, ducking his head in the doorway. “Did she say where she was going?” He asks curiously.

Curtis makes a face, lifting his shoulders as he focuses on the papers in front of him. “Nah, she didn’t say. Just sent me a text that she was helping Roy with a case. I figured he must’ve needed her for something important if she couldn’t wait for her lunch first. I mean, I’ve never known that girl to willingly pass on sushi.”

Oliver freezes, Curtis’ words sinking in. And his heart sinking to his stomach. “What?” He grits through his teeth. 

Always oblivious, Curtis doesn’t notice the tension rolling off of Oliver. Instead, he happily taps his fingers against the table, focused on the files in front of him, “Sorry, boss. I don’t know where they went.”

With his jaw clenched tight, Oliver turns on his heel, not bothering to say goodbye to his agent. And he walks straight for his office, praying that Curtis is mistaken.

* * *

Felicity keeps her mouth shut the rest of the way to the prison, knowing that arguing over whether or not she’ll be staying in the car would be pointless. Although she doesn’t plan on staying in the car. She didn’t come all this way, at the price of _ seriously _pissing Oliver off, just to wait in the car.

She has her mind set on getting into that prison. And she knows that Roy has his mind set on making sure she stays out of it.

It’s not until Slabside comes into view that Felicity considers listening to Roy. 

The place looks like it came straight out of a horror movie. Sure, it’s a prison that was made to house the worst criminals in the country. But it looks more like an impenetrable fortress, high walls, barbed wire, and resting right on the edge of a deadly cliff. “Well,” Felicity whispers as Roy drives up the winding road towards the prison. “This feels like the kind of place you don’t make it out of.”

Felicity is too distracted by Slabside and the idea that this is the closest she’s been to Barton Mathis in two years, to care that Roy rolls his eyes at her. She knots her fingers together in her lap, tugging at the material of her skirt.

Roy had taken a knife to the chest to save her the same night they’d met. And since then, they’ve only grown closer. 

Oliver trusts Roy. If a case requires Felicity going out into the field, there’s only three people Oliver authorizes to accompany her. Himself, of course. But if not him, then it’s John Diggle or Roy Harper. Felicity is well aware of the lengths Roy is willing to go in order to keep her safe. And maybe if it’d been someone else that Oliver sent to the prison today, she wouldn’t have been so eager to tag along. 

The parking lot is small, mostly for the staff with a few indicated spots for visitors along the side of the building. And there’s a breathtaking view of the ocean, yet it’s far from peaceful. The cliffs look like they’re supporting the prison, like if they crumble into the sea, so will the building. As soon as Roy is parked, they can hear the treacherous water below, Waves crashing against the rocks, vicious and relentless. 

“I’m going with you,” Felicity says weakly, already anticipating Roy’s answer. 

He doesn’t glance away from the prison’s entrance, staring back at the guards who watch them warily. “You do realize that your boyfriend will probably fire me just for bringing you here, right? Even if you did trick me.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually buy it!” When Roy narrows his eyes at her, Felicity pinches her lips shut. “I guess my poker face is improving.”

Roy scoffs, shaking his head. “I was just distracted and pissed off that Oliver was ordering me to come here.”

“I’m sorry I lied,” she sighs. “But I have a bad feeling, Roy. Oliver wants to forget the riot happened, but I don’t trust warden Knox. I think he’s up to something.”

“Felicity,” Roy finally looks at her. “Of course he's up to something. You don’t run a place like Slabside without being a shady son of a bitch. Knox has been accepting bribes for years. He runs this place like he’s a king. I can guarantee that half the shit going on in there is illegal.”

She stares at him for a moment, her eyebrows pushing together as varying levels of anger roll through her thoughts. “Then what is the FBI doing about it!?”

Roy shakes his head, looking at her as if she should already know. “It’s not that simple. Knox has more influence than you’d think. I’ve seen a handful of agents open a case against him, Oliver included, and it’s quickly shut down.”

“Oliver tried to go after him already?”

“Yeah, years ago. It didn’t work out and Knox has no idea he ever attempted to take him down, which I’m sure that now, Oliver is pretty damn grateful for.”

Felicity pauses, shifting in her seat to look at Roy fully. “He didn’t tell me he’s taken a shot at the warden before.”

Roy just shrugs. “Like I said, it didn’t work. From what I’ve heard, Oliver was still a rookie and he’d barely spent a day gathering evidence before it was all taken and he was told to let it go.”

“How?” She asks incredulously. “How is it possible that Knox has that much power?”

With a sigh, Roy glances back at her. “As much as Knox acts like he’s a king, the criminals in there...they view him as one. I’m not saying they _ like _him, but dethroning him would only open the door for mutiny. And the last thing the government wants is for that door to be opened.”

“This is insane.”

“If you saw what it’s like in there, you’d understand it better,” he raises an eyebrow, “but you won’t. Because you’re staying in the car.”

“I can help. I wasn’t lying about the security system.”

Roy is shaking his head before she even finishes. “I’ll probably be fired as soon as I walk back into headquarters, but if I let you go inside, Oliver will _ kill _me. And even more than that, it’s a terrible plan, Felicity. Slabside is for monsters, and you’re like, the opposite.” 

“Fine, leave me in the car. What’s to stop me from waiting five minutes and following you inside anyway?” Her tone is already that of a maddening teenager, and Felicity can’t help but cross her arms defiantly as Roy glares at her.

They’re both too stubborn to back down, resulting in the stare-down of the century. Roy tries to read her, to see whether or not she’d really go in anyway. And Felicity honestly isn’t sure if she has the guts, but she’s angry enough to front it convincingly. 

Before Roy has a chance to call her bluff, and before Felicity has a chance to prove him wrong, her phone starts to vibrate in her lap. With her heart climbing into her throat, she finally breaks eye-contact with Roy to look down at it.

Sure enough, Oliver’s name and picture light up her screen. “Frack.”

Beside her, Roy laughs darkly, “nothing gets by him. You _ can’t _be surprised.”

Grumbling under her breath, Felicity slides her thumb across the screen. “Hello?”

* * *

First and foremost, Oliver is confused. Why the _hell_ would Felicity want to go to Slabside?

Secondly, he’s irritated. In that moment, it's mostly focused at Roy for believing that it was a good idea to bring Felicity along, or for not caring if he knew that it _wasn’t_ a good idea.

And lastly, he’s angry at himself. For not seeing the whole thing coming.

As soon as he hears Felicity’s voice, her hesitant, uneasy “hello?” Oliver relaxes ever so slightly. If she has her phone, then they haven’t made it to Slabside yet. There’s still time to stop this disaster before it gets out of hand.

“Are you okay?” He asks lowly, too far from caring about any pleasantries.

“Yes,” Felicity breathes back.

Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Please tell me you’re not going where I think you’re going.”

The laugh that greets him is high-pitched and nervous. And it gives him his answer. Tells him exactly what he needs to know. “Technically,” she strains, “we’re already here. Roy and I were just discussing the details. You know, making a plan, being prepared, all that really good stuff.”

“You can tell Roy that he’s fired if he doesn’t bring you back here."

"Funny," Felicity forces another laugh, "he said the same thing."

"I swear, Felicity...if you’re both not back...” He knows his voice is gruff, doing that ‘growly thing’ she teases him over all the time. But she usually hears it under different circumstances; when he’s complaining about one of his agents, a case they’re working, or even Ophie when she’s done something bad. 

He and Felicity have had their arguments. But he can’t ever remember being angry enough _ at her _ that he has to watch his tone, stop himself from raising his voice. But in that moment, he wants to explode.

Felicity makes a tiny squeaking noise, and he can picture her eyes getting wider, her mouth dropping open in surprise as she realizes the same. “Oliver,” she whispers. And still, he can’t do anything to stop the anger bubbling up in his chest.

But no, it’s not just anger.

It’s the same feeling he had when he learned that there was a woman buried alive and it was up to him and his team to find her. The same sinking in his gut that he’d felt when he raced to save her. The knot in his stomach is a phantom terror that he can remember so clearly; how he’d forced himself to ignore it as he carried this same woman through the eerie Holland Forest, narrowly escaping a serial killer.

No one can make him lose his mind like this. Only Felicity Smoak is capable of driving him this crazy. “Get out of there, Felicity. That’s an order.”

She huffs, half in surprise and half in annoyance. “You know I don’t respond very well to _ orders_.”

“This isn’t a game, _ agent Smoak_,” Oliver growls back.

“I know,” Felicity sighs. “I know it’s not. I didn’t handle this right, okay? I get that. I can admit that. And I owe you about a million apologies, but...I’m here now. And I have to do this, Oliver.”

Rationally, there are plenty of reasons to believe that Felicity would be fine. Mathis being in solitary, for one. The fact that Slabside just had a massive riot and the guards will be much more strict than usual. And most importantly, she’s with Roy...who has proven that he's capable and willing to put his life on the line for Felicity.

But Oliver doesn’t think of any of those reasons. All he can think about is Felicity being in the same place as Barton Mathis. The same place that Oliver had just seen in utter chaos. And he’s powerless to do _ anything _ if she chooses not to listen to him. “Please,” Oliver’s throat is tight, his voice fearful even to his own ears. “Don’t make me beg you not to do this.”

“Oliver,” she whispers his name again, nothing but gentle affirmation. “I can help. Trust me.”

He can see that he won’t change her mind. And it’s an awful, sickening feeling. Like the fact that she’s there means that he could lose her. There’s nothing he can do to protect her, either. And that makes him feel truly helpless. “Don’t ask me to trust you when you just went behind my back to get your way.”

Felicity sucks in a sharp breath, and Oliver knows that his words have stung her. He closes his eyes. The simple fact that he’d hurt her feelings already makes him want to apologize. But then he pinches his lips together, refusing to make it all okay, because if he makes it all okay, then there’s nothing stopping her. “Felicity,” Oliver's voice is shaky, his heart racing as the next words fall from his lips without his permission, desperate and dangerous. “If you go, I’m not sure that I can forgive you.”

In truth, she’s already forgiven. He’d understood why she went, why she didn’t tell him, and he had forgiven her before he even called. But it’s hard to see anything clearly when that hellish prison looms like a threat. When he thinks about Felicity being in that place, it makes him want to puke. And right now, his only chance of stopping it from happening is to convince her not to go inside.

“I’m going to be fine, Oliver.” Felicity finally whispers back, hurt in her voice that’s palpable. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, hating the sound of it as much as he hates this plan. “And I really am sorry. The rest...we can talk about when I get home.”

Oliver just huffs, unable to find the words that would convince her not to go. Or the words that would make this moment feel any easier. 

“I love you,” Felicity sighs.

His chest tightens, his hands doing the same. Half of him feels like saying it back, in that moment, would be as bad as saying goodbye. And the other half of him can already see that it is exactly what she needs to hear. To know that everything between them will be okay, even as she does something he obviously disagrees with.

From experience, Oliver also knows that being out in the field while Felicity is upset with him can really screw with his head. A disagreement has never stopped _ her _ from telling him that she loves him. He’s made plenty of choices as an agent, as the director of the Bureau, that Felicity didn’t agree with. But she has _ never _used an argument against him. Never dangled it like an ultimatum. And no matter how much he hates this or how desperate he feels to stop her, it isn't right to do that to her now.

After a long pause, once he's accepted the reality of what’s happening, Oliver tells the truth. “I love you. Be safe, Felicity.”

* * *

Surprisingly, the inside of Slabside isn’t as bad as Felicity imagined. Not at first glance, at least. Maybe its because she’d been picturing the literal innerbelly of hell.

Granted, it’s not pretty. And she’d prefer not to have to stay for long. 

“Keep close,” Roy mumbles as he walks in front of her, passing through the gates where the guards patrol on the walls above their heads.

By the time Felicity and Roy make it through security, stripped of their belongings, of her _ phone_, Felicity’s nerves are at an all time high. Then a guard leads them to the warden’s office, down a hallway full of cells. And she realizes that if there's one thing she regrets about this day, it was choosing to wear a skirt when she got ready that morning. 

As they pass the prisoners, she’s certain that she can never put on her favorite skirt again without seeing the menacing eyes that leer at her legs through the bars of their cells. The vile threats that are both muttered under breaths and yelled without shame.

The guard walks ahead of her, with Roy behind, but Felicity barely notices either of them. She focuses on her feet, walking down the center of the hall as she follows the guard’s shadow.

Felicity wonders if this is the longest hallway in the world, or if her chagrin is just making it feel that way. _ Surely, they must almost be out. _ She repeats it in her head over and over, doing her best to block out the explicit things being snarled at her. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a hand straining from one of the cells, a finger swiping by her cheek, reaching for her hair. Felicity barely has time to step away before the hand is knocked aside and Roy is flush against her back, keeping her from moving too close to either side of the hall. 

Her eyes snap up to the owner of the hand, meeting the gaze of an older man with frosty blue eyes. He smirks as soon as she looks at him, finding some kind of pleasure in her discomfort. In the fear he must see in her eyes.

Roy drops the inmate’s hand roughly, growling a “try that again, see how many fingers you have left,” that even makes Felicity wince. 

But the man in the cell’s smile just grows wider. “Hello, princess,” he muses in a subtle accent as he leans against the bars. “Better watch more than the floor around here. These men can be unpredictable. More like wild animals,” his voice rings with fake sincerity, and the look on his face makes Felicity’s skin crawl. “You never know what they’re capable of...if you didn’t have your guard dog, of course.” He winks at Roy, who ignores the baiting, pressing his hand against Felicity’s back to push her forward, but her heart is still hammering in her chest and her feet aren’t quite ready to move yet.

Without warning, the guard in front of them slams his nightstick against the prisoner’s cell, making him jump back to avoid getting his fingers crushed. “You’re already on thin ice, Brickwell,” the guard seethes. “How does a week in the hole sound?”

The inmate, Brickwell, narrows his eyes at all three of them, the smile falling from his face as its replaced with a snarl of his lip.

“Come on,” the guard waves them along like nothing had happened, shoving his baton back in his belt. And this time, Felicity can see the door leading out of the hallway, and she pulls back from Roy, moving quickly to the much-needed escape.

* * *

“The morgue has identified the bodies we found behind the diner. Barton Mathis wasn’t lying...Sara and I are heading out to talk to the families of Natalie Law and Allison Thompson now. Do you want to come?”

John’s words register in the back of his mind, but Oliver just grunts in response. He keeps his eyes on the window, his hand clenched tightly around his cell phone. Dig lets out a long, obvious sigh, which Oliver also ignores. “I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbles. “Look, I can tell that you want to be left alone, Oliver. But if there’s something you want to talk about...I’m around.”

Oliver stays silent, prepared to brood with this on his own, until John turns to leave. And then the words come out of him in a rush, “Felicity is at Slabside.”

Diggle pauses in the doorway of Oliver’s office, his eyebrows raising. “With Roy?” Oliver nods his head, and John sighs again, dragging his hand down his face. “Let me guess, she tricked Roy into taking her, and any attempt to talk her out of it was futile because she’s stubborn as hell.”

With one glower from Oliver, Diggle knows that he’s spot on. His friend grins, and Oliver glares some more. “This isn’t funny, John.”

“You’re pretty pissed at her, huh?”

Shifting in his chair, Oliver squirms under the question that he’s been asking himself for an hour now. 

Oh, Oliver is angry at her. Livid that she didn’t talk to him first, that she’s there at all. He’s not sure he’s ever been this angry at her. And of course, since she’s Felicity, and since she’s practically impossible to be mad at, the anger feels wrong the more it boils up inside of him. “I told her that I didn’t know if I could forgive her.”

John shrugs, “you can be pissed about it all you want, but as long as you still want to be with her, then there’s nothing you won’t be willing to forgive. Nothing that can’t be mended.”

Oliver slumps in his chair, relieved, as always, to be able to confide in his friend. While Oliver had been wrestling with how to feel since he hung up with Felicity, John can sum it all up so easily. “I can forgive her one hundred times over, John. But how am I supposed to react to this? She could be in trouble. And I’m going crazy just sitting here.”

“She’s brave, Oliver. That part of Felicity Smoak is never going to change. She’ll always need to get involved.”

“But _ why?”_ Oliver heaves. “I had it under control during the riot. Roy could’ve handled the check today. What was the _ point _of her getting involved?”

“You really don’t get it,” Dig sighs, shaking his head. “When it was Barton Mathis wreaking havoc on our lives, it was her own self-preservation fueling her to fight back. But now? What she did today? She’s trying to protect _ you_, Oliver. And you and I both know that you wouldn’t hesitate for even a _ moment _to do the same for her if it came down to it.”

“She doesn’t...” Oliver sucks in a breath, glancing away. “She doesn’t need to protect me.” He knows that Felicity loves him. She’s had his back and saved him countless times. In so many different ways. But this time it feels different. It makes him feel vulnerable, somehow.

“Well,” Diggle shrugs. “I doubt Felicity sees it like that. Clearly, she believes that she does.”

* * *

Walking with warden Knox is an entirely different experience than before, despite the fact that he leads Felicity and Roy back through the same hallway they’d come in. This time as they pass, the space is completely silent. Felicity even looks up a few times, checking that the inmates are still in their cells.

They are, but none of them say a word when they notice that the warden is beside her. Even Brickwell avoids looking up at them, all the cocky taunting from before is completely gone. Felicity wonders why a man in his late sixties could seem so threatening to a prison full of criminals and killers. But maybe she doesn’t want to know.

“Thank you both for coming out,” Knox finally addresses them once they’re clear of the prison block. “I hope agent Queen is rest assured that we’re handling the incident as needed.”

In response, Roy watches the warden for a moment, analyzing him. “We’d love to see exactly what that looks like, if you don’t mind. We came here to be thorough. And of course, to help in any way that we can.”

“I'm sure,” Knox gives them a wide, fake smile. “We’ve set up new screening equipment for prisoners entering and exiting the mess hall, as well as nightly cell checks to ensure that no one has possession of weapons.”

“What about the kitchen staff?” Felicity interjects, remembering that Oliver mentioned employees had also been trapped in the cafeteria when the warden chose to lock the doors during the riot.

The man’s smile tightens, like he’s irritated to even hear her speak, and he can’t manage to look her in the eye. After surviving as a woman for as long as she has, Felicity can recognize a misogynistic pig when she sees one.

Warden Knox doesn’t like that she’s here. He doesn’t like that she’s the one determining whether or not his prison is functioning sufficiently. 

“We’re working on providing them with better training,” Knox answers.

“Training?” Felicity presses, crossing her arms as she takes a step closer to him.

The warden sighs, clearly annoyed with her questioning and no longer caring enough to hide it. “Crisis management training,” he deadpans. “We’re also installing a panic room within the kitchen where they can go in the event of an emergency.”

Felicity raises her eyebrows, genuinely impressed by the thought behind the changes, reactions that actually make sense. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from Slabside, but responsible solutions hadn’t been it.

Still, she can hear the distaste in Knox's voice. It’s clear that he doesn’t like being under the microscope...which is rich, considering that this entire incident should have consequences much, _ much _worse for him than having two detectives poke around his prison.

Roy must be thinking the same thing Felicity is, because there’s ridicule in his tone as he patronizes the warden, “well, we’d love to see them...just to be certain that you won’t have another uprising on your hands. If it can happen once...who’s to say, you know?”

“Director Queen has nothing to worry about. We’ve upgraded all of our security cameras and given our server room quite the makeover.”

“That’s why I thought agent Smoak should come along today,” Roy lies. “I’m sure she could help you with that.” Roy blinks, feigning innocence as if he hasn’t noticed that the warden never actually asked for any help. And Knox fails to hide his irritation, his eyes flickering to Felicity like she’s the gum under his shoe. 

The warden is clearly offended by the suggestion, probably even more so since Roy is implying that Felicity is more skilled than he is. _ Heaven forbid a woman know more than him. _

“Oh,” Roy shrugs, knowing that Knox can’t decline the help without looking far too suspicious. “And Oliver’s doing fine, by the way.”

As the two men stare each other down, Felicity takes a subtle step closer to Roy, getting between them. Because she knows her friend, and he’s a hot head who has a history of throwing punches when he sees fit. “Well,” she clears her throat. “I for one would love to take a peek at your security bay, warden Knox.”

* * *

Unsure what to do with himself, Oliver hangs around the Bureau much longer than he would have on any normal night. These days, he’s happy to leave the office before sundown, relieved to go home and spent time with Felicity and Ophie. 

But tonight, Felicity’s car is still sitting in the parking lot...because she’s at Slabside with Roy. And Oliver isn’t sure if they’ll come back to headquarters first so she can get it, or if she’ll just want to go home and ride in tomorrow with him.

It’s a silly thing to focus on, yet it leaves Oliver sitting in his office for almost an hour after most of the Bureau has gone home for the night.

They hadn’t talked about it...what happens when she comes home.

All he knows is that she doesn’t plan to be there very long. Not whether or not he should meet her here or at the apartment. Not if she’s upset with him for the things he’d said. 

He didn’t even get a chance to talk to Roy and threaten his life should anything happen to Felicity.

It all feels wrong.

Oliver picks up his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen for a moment before he texts her; _Call me when you get out. Please. _

He sends the message, knowing she won’t read it until she has her phone back, until she’s free of Slabside.

* * *

The security bay is better than Felicity expected, which is a nice surprise.

Aside from the unfriendly guard sitting in the chair, too many crumbs in the keyboard, and the faint scent of body odor that hangs in the room, it’s actually quite impressive. A giant window overlooks a cellblock of the prison that Felicity’s told is where the most violent of the inmates sleep, the intention being that the night crew can have eyes on them at all times, preventing any assaults and allowing the guards to react quicker if there’s a problem here.

“And this works well?” Felicity asks, looking to the warden for an answer since the guard seems content to only give her grunts and sighs instead of words. 

“It does, agent Smoak,” Knox crosses his arms where he stands in the doorway. “We haven’t seen a fight on this block in months.”

Felicity nods, glancing back at the monitors. In an attempt to keep the FBI off his back, the warden has built a very efficient system. Of course, the surveillance must help keep the prisoners in line. She can’t help but wonder how much of his own staff’s wrongs have been caught on camera. Maybe the warden had stupidly exposed himself, as well. And maybe she'd be able to work a little magic and gain access to the footage.

Oliver had already told her that the guards at Slabside were notoriously shady; accepting bribes, violent, corrupt. Many of them had been transferred from their police departments for one misdeed or another. Banished to Slabside rather than fired. And Felicity doubts that their bad behaviors just disappeared when they arrived. 

Finally, while looking at the bones of an institution like Slabside, Felicity can understand what Oliver had meant when he said they needed to be careful.

“So…” the warden clears his throat. “Are you satisfied with how I run my prison, agent Smoak?”

Biting her lip, Felicity nods, pretending not to notice the condescension in his words. “I am,” she looks him in the eye, refusing to cower. “Although I do have a few suggestions for better quality safeguards on your mainframes. It seems like there might be a bit of a lag in the network between cell blocks, but I’d be happy to send you some recommendations.”

The warden gives her a tight smile in answer, holding out his hand towards the door, “that’d be appreciated. Now, we do have some work to attend to here, if you two wouldn’t mind…”

Felicity isn’t surprised that they’re getting an extremely _ not _subtle invitation to the door, but she takes it anyway, knowing that she’s seen all she needs to see. And she really wants to get home to Oliver.

Roy puts a hand on her back, guiding her out while Knox waits for them to pass. 

They follow him in silence once again, heading back towards the front of the prison where they’d checked in. And the warden leads them the whole way, not giving them a single moment alone.

When they reach the gates, the guards wave Roy in first, one of them patting him down as the other conjures up a bin with his belongings. Felicity twists her fingers together, waiting her turn while Knox stands stoically at her side. “Well,” she hopes she doesn’t look as uncomfortable as she feels, quickly growing antsy without Roy by her side. “Thank you for giving us the tour. I can email you those recommendations by tomorrow,” she flashes him a polite smile, taking a small step back when she realizes how close he’s hovering.

The warden leans in a little closer, “you and I both know I won’t read them," he snarls. "I don’t take orders from little bitches pretending to be superior. Coming here was a waste of all of our time. Now get those legs out of my prison.”

Felicity’s breath gets stuck in her throat before he’s finished insulting her. And by the time he’s done, she wants to kick herself for the tiny gasp she releases, for giving herself away, for being so _ surprised_. 

But she _is _ surprised. Knox’s _ blunt _ rudeness catches her off guard, after dealing with his _ passive aggressive _rudeness for the last few hours. 

Before Felicity can find a response, the guard at the gate hollers for her, waving a gloved hand for her to approach the window. 

Roy waits dutifully at the door, crossing his arms as he glares over her shoulder, at warden Knox. And Felicity signs the release forms with a shaky hand before being patted down. Then she waits for her phone and purse to be returned, keeping her gaze focused on her hands where she rests them on the counter in front of her. By the time she turns around again, the warden is gone. She lets out a sigh of relief, quickly making her way to Roy’s side.

“Ready to get the hell out of here?” She grumbles, and Roy gives her a small snort of agreement. Felicity quickens her steps, staring down the outer gates as if she’d been trapped in this hell for much longer than two hours. The cold air that assaults her face as soon as they’re outside is welcome, the sharp sting of the wind on her cheeks helps to calm her down.

“Easy, Smoak,” Roy mutters near her ear, his hand clenching on the back of her jacket gently, urging her to slow down. It reminds her that the guards are still watching. “What did he say to you?”

Of course Knox had taken those two seconds with Roy out of earshot to say something jarring, clearly choosing his moment to get under her skin. Simply to mess with her. And of course Roy had been watching. “Nothing nice,” she huffs back.

Roy tugs harder on her coat, and she realizes she’s practically running for the car as soon as it comes into sight. Felicity lets out an annoyed breath, slowing her steps again. “Did he threaten you?” Her friend asks, his tone even enough, but Felicity catches the protective implication beneath his words. 

Her gut instincts wants to scream _yes_, but as she plays back the warden’s words in her head, she realizes that he hadn’t made a threat. His attitude had been condescending, and his words had been demeaning and rude, but not threatening. “No,” Felicity shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. I’ll tell you in the car,” she lifts her chin towards the safety where she can rant and rave all she wants. “Let’s just—” Felicity freezes as a low, long buzzer rings to her left, and the door behind a tall barbed wire fence slowly slides open.

She turns her head, glancing around at the mostly-empty prison yard where a few of the inmates are playing cards, lifting weights, and talking. But as warden Knox comes through the door, flanked by three guards, Felicity stops dead in her tracks. 

Barton Mathis follows behind the guards.

His hands are cuffed together with a long chain that extends to his ankles. His face is hollow and pale. And he blinks up at the setting sun rapidly, as if his eyes are trying to adjust to the light.

Roy is saying something, but blood is rushing into her ears, making it sound like she's underwater, unable to breathe. And he’s pulling on her coat again, but her feet might as well be cement, dragging her down, because it does nothing to move her from her spot on the sidewalk.

Felicity’s eyes flicker to warden Knox, for just a brief moment, long enough for her to see the smirk on his wrinkled face, as if this is a game and he’s just won it.

And when she looks back at Mathis, he seems to notice her in the same moment.

Everything stops when Felicity looks into the eyes of the man who had terrorized her life and continued to haunt her for the last two years. He freezes, his eyes widening in pure shock. And then his face breaks with a smile, a manic laugh tumbling from his lips as he lifts his hands weakly in her direction.

Suddenly it doesn’t feel like there are dozens of guards and a fence between them. It doesn’t feel like she has Roy Harper at her side. 

It feels like it’s just the two of them again. Like her nightmare is coming true. And even though the Dollmaker is yards away, Felicity hears him when he speaks. “I knew you’d come,” he says confidently, “I knew this wasn’t over for you, either.”

“Felicity!” Roy snaps, breaking through her haze as he wraps an arm around her waist and forces her towards the parking lot. 

While she’s hauled away, Mathis rushes towards the fence, and the guards take a little too long to notice what’s happening behind them. “Let go of her! Don't touch her! Felicity!” Mathis screams, his eyes fixated on her, as wild and cold as her dream. “You’re mine! No! This isn’t over! You’re _ mine!”_

His fingers are latched through the chain-links, shaking the fence frantically, and Felicity finally looks away, pushing herself on heavy legs to help Roy as they move towards the car. 

Once Roy has eventually ushered her into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind her, she’s left with silence. 

Felicity keeps her head down, but can’t stop herself from glancing back up at Barton Mathis.

Although she can no longer hear him screaming for her, she can see that he still is. He continues to thrash, like he's desperate to tear down the barbed wire fence between them. His attention remains focused on her where she sits in the car, even as the guards peel him off the fence and drag him back towards the door.

All Felicity can do is sit, shell-shocked, while Roy climbs in and starts the car. All she can see is Barton Mathis while they whip out of the parking lot, leaving the sight of him in the rear-view mirror, flailing against four guards as he bellows after her. And all she can feel is numb, wondering how long he'll continue to scream for her, and how long she'll hear his voice echoing in her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just about half way through! As I'm working out the details for the rest of the story, I think I might need to add one more chapter (so knowing me I'll be adding at least one more chapter :p)  
I hope you all enjoyed! Please let me know what you think!!


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Oliver’s office starts to feel claustrophobic, the sun is setting outside his window. He still hasn’t heard from Felicity, and he can’t think of a single, understandable reason as to why she wouldn’t have called by now. The moment he realizes that it’s been too long since he’s heard from her, Oliver snatches his phone off his desk. His patience finally breaks, and he decides to call her without a second thought.

And if Felicity doesn’t answer, he’s already planning to call the warden and ask where his agents are.

His breath stays stuck in his throat as the phone begins to ring. 

After the fourth ring, Oliver seriously starts to worry, panic filling his lungs with each second that Felicity doesn’t pick up. His heart sinks into his stomach, and he tries to search for an answer; something that could explain why Felicity and Roy would still be held up at the prison. _ Any _answer that doesn’t include the fears he’s been trying not to let himself think about all day. Like her being hurt. Or in danger. Or trapped just like he had been.

Finally, just before he’s sent to voicemail, the reception crackles. “Hello?”

Oliver freezes, his heart sinking even lower than before, actually making his stomach churn. “Where’s Felicity?” He gasps, recognizing Roy’s voice instantly on the other end.

“She’s right here,” Roy mumbles back, “she’s just...a little shaken.”

“What happened?” Oliver growls, doing his best not to panic. He doesn’t _ panic_. Unless Felicity’s safety is involved, as two years with her have taught him. 

Felicity’s idea to accompany Roy on a trip to Slabside, while he can do nothing but sit and wait to hear from her, is enough to send him over the edge. In fact, Oliver has been over the edge all damn day about this, so he’s not sure where exactly it sends him when Roy answers her phone.

And his agent is taking way too long to answer. “What’s wrong, Roy?” Oliver demands, clenching his fist at his side while he stands perfectly still in the center of his office. “Where is she?”

“I told you, Oliver,” Roy huffs, “she’s right here, she just—”

Before Roy can finish his sentence, Felicity’s voice cuts in, low and strained in the background; “I’ll talk to him.” And Oliver finally breathes. 

A moment later, he hears her voice again, and he forces himself to take another breath. “Oliver?”

“Felicity,” he closes his eyes, relief flooding him. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I—I don’t know...I didn’t notice that it was ringing until Roy took it.”

Oliver hesitates, trying to read her distant tone and wishing he could see her face. This day might be the most stressed he's been since the night he first met Felicity. “Where are you?”

“In the car,” Felicity answers instantly, “we’re on our way back.”

Even though that lifts a weight off his shoulders, Oliver still feels tension in his chest. Because she sounds...off. Confused and drained...almost like she does when she wakes up from a bad dream. And he _ really _wishes he could see her face right now. “Are you okay? What’s wrong, Felicity? What happened?” He can’t help but fire off the questions, even though all of his training with the FBI has taught him never to ask more than one question at a time.

“I saw Barton Mathis,” Felicity whispers. 

Oliver stops completely, every muscle in his body tightening as he rolls her words over and over in his mind. 

“Knox was bringing him outside as we were leaving,” she finishes.

He doesn’t speak, knowing that the last thing Felicity needs is for him to release the string of curses that cross his mind. Along with a dozen questions. Besides, Roy blurts out exactly where Oliver’s head had gone anyway, loud enough for him to hear. “That jackass warden set the whole up. No way in hell was it a coincidence!”

No way in hell. But _ why? _ He wants to ask Felicity that exact question, why she thinks Knox would use Mathis to mess with her. To _ scare _her. Because for Oliver, it’s impossible to think of any reason why someone would hate Felicity _that_ much. Maybe she’d stepped on his toes, maybe he was intimidated by her, maybe he didn’t appreciate a woman who was ten times smarter than him. 

Whatever the excuse, Oliver knows he can’t let this slide.

But first, he needs to focus on the person who matters most. He wants to know exactly what happened and how. Every detail. But he ignores all of that, too. “Are you okay?” Oliver mumbles instead.

“No...not really.” Felicity answers honestly, her voice cracking. Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath and listening as she does the same. “You told me this was a bad idea, Oliver. You didn’t want me to go, and Roy didn't want me to go, but I went anyway, and I just feel really stupid right now. I should have known. I should have seen that coming and I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey,” Oliver interrupts her. “You were trying to help.” And because he doesn’t know what else to say, what he could possibly say to make this right; “I’m so sorry, Felicity.” 

She lets out a soft whimper, and Oliver pinches his lips together, feeling sick with a desperate need to see her, to at least _ try _to make her feel better. To protect her. It’s no different than how he’d felt two years ago when he’d been protecting her from Barton Mathis...except this time, his feelings for her are much, much deeper. Back then, he’d at least been able to think straight. Now, he feels completely lost. “Oliver,” she says quietly. “I just want to be home.”

He sighs. At least this, he can handle. “Tell Roy to bring you straight to the apartment. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” Felicity whispers weakly, and he can tell how exhausted she is. “Oliver?”

“Yeah, honey?”

Felicity sucks in a breath, “are you angry with me?”

Despite his affirmation earlier, Oliver feels all of his energy draining at the question, as if the answer could never be yes. “No,” he sighs, “I’m not angry. I just want to see you.”

“Roy, how much longer?” Felicity asks.

“A couple hours,” he hears Roy reply, and Oliver sinks onto his desk, closing his eyes. Knowing she’s safe and on her way gives him so much relief, but he knows he won’t be able to truly relax until she’s _ home_.

Dreading the next two hours until she gets back, Oliver tries not to let it show as he says, “you should try to get some rest, okay? You’ll be home before you know it.”

With another long breath, Felicity responds, “I’ll see you soon.”

He stays on the line with her until he notices her breaths growing deeper as she drifts off. And then Roy takes the phone and tells him he’ll have her back as soon as he can.

The moment Oliver is out of the building, he heads straight home. 

And the moment he walks through the door, he’s attacked by a giant, energetic ball of crazy who has been cooped up in the apartment all day. Oliver isn’t sure he’s ever seen Ophie so happy to see him. She jumps up at his legs and races around his feet as he tries to calm her down.

Giving him a growly whine, Ophie bites the end of her leash that hangs off the table by the door, yanking it down and dragging it along behind her until she’s seated in front of him. Even though it’s been an impossible day, Oliver can’t help but chuckle as the dog tilts her head to the side, wagging her tail and waiting impatiently for him to take her out.

“Okay girl,” Oliver says calmly, pulling his tie off and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. He double checks his pockets, making sure his phone and keys are accounted for, before taking the leash from Ophie’s mouth and clipping it to her collar. Once its on, she lunges towards the door, her whole body wagging happily.

Oliver follows obediently, letting her lead the way, mostly because he feels guilty that neither he nor Felicity had stopped home on their lunch break to let her out, and she’s been alone all day. 

To make up for it, and because he knows he has quite a bit of time to kill and Ophie has quite a bit of energy to burn, Oliver takes her on a nice, long walk around the neighborhood. And he lets her smell every shrub and mailbox her heart desires. By the time they head home, she’s panting and exhausted.

He checks his phone again when they get back inside, seeing that Felicity hasn’t texted him, but the walk has thankfully eaten up the better part of an hour. After filling Ophie’s food and water dishes, he heads for the bedroom, leaving his phone plugged in on the nightstand where he can hear it if it rings.

It doesn’t, and once he’s done changing, he checks it again. Just to make sure.

With a sigh, Oliver flops onto the mattress before flipping the TV on and settling on his side. He leans back against the pillows, glancing at his phone one more time. And then he rolls his eyes, knowing that he’ll be checking it for the next hour until Roy drops Felicity off.

They rarely use the television in their bedroom, but he isn’t sure what else to do with himself. The noise of it piques Ophie’s interest, and she comes clicking down the hallway and into the bedroom before hopping up on Felicity’s side. The dog shifts in a small circle before plopping down on Felicity’s pillow like she always does. Oliver reaches over to scratch his fingers through her fur, pressing beneath her collar to get the spot she likes.

Without either of their permission, they both fall asleep.

He’s woken a while later when Ophie’s head jolts up from beneath his hand. And a moment after he opens his eyes again, Felicity’s figure appears in the bedroom doorway. The dog lets out a sharp, disoriented bark before she recognizes Felicity. 

At the unexpected sound, Felicity flinches, a squeak of surprise escaping her. And then Oliver is sitting up at the same time Ophie jumps off the bed to go give her mom the same excited hello she’d greeted him with. “Okay, ow, Oph, settle down. Ow. Hi,” Felicity does the same thing as Oliver, trying to calm Ophie down by giving her attention, yet it only makes her more excited.

“Ophie!” Oliver reprimands sharply, his eyes widening when Felicity’s head snaps up to him, surprised. Her expression isn't that different than the one the dog gives him. And he can see how jumpy she is. “Sorry,” he mutters, wincing.

Felicity takes another step towards him, and this time Ophie lays down on the floor at her feet, resting her head on her paws as she keeps her eyes trained on Felicity.

“Hi,” Oliver starts to get up, ready to pull Felicity into his arms.

But she shakes her head, a grumbled “uh uh” in response. Instead, Felicity crawls on top of him, pushing him back down onto his pillow as she straddles her legs over his hips and wraps her arms around his neck. Felicity buries her face in his chest, her hair tumbling over his shoulder. And he feels her everywhere, that last bit of anxiety leaving him, now that he has her home safe. 

Reacting to the way she latches onto him, Oliver glides both of his hands down her back, the tips of his fingers following the path of her spine. And as he brings them back up towards her neck, Felicity sighs, “God, I missed you.”

* * *

Felicity opens her eyes slowly, blinking against the sun shining through the window. It’s making her incredibly hot; the sun on her face, the blanket wrapped around her legs, and the furnace of a dog who is apparently insistent on sleeping right on top of her this morning. She stretches onto her back, nudging Ophie aside and rolling her eyes when her four-legged friend answers with an annoyed grumble.

Ophie spreads out across Oliver’s empty side of the bed, reaching her paws to the ceiling before sinking back into the comforter. “Spoiled,” Felicity tells her, but leans over to scratch her belly. Usually Ophie prefers to sleep on the couch at night, but she never misses an opportunity to snuggle up on Oliver’s pillow while he’s in the shower in the morning, either. 

Just then, the bathroom door opens, and Oliver emerges in a towel. He pauses in the doorway, the steam from his shower sticking to his chest, drops of water dripping from his hair and onto his shoulders. Felicity licks her lips, her throat going dry, and..._ it’s way too early for this. _

“Good morning,” she offers, sitting up and stretching her arms out in front of her.

Oliver smiles gently, “morning.” His feet pad across the floor until he reaches the dresser. And Felicity watches as he opens the top drawer and pulls out a pair of boxer briefs before he lets the towel drop, replacing it with the briefs. Then he dips down to pick up the discarded towel, using it to wipe up the moisture on his chest and neck.

She frowns at his backside as he retreats further without giving her another glance, heading for the closet now.

“You didn’t say much last night,” Felicity notes, speaking carefully.

Oliver opens the door to the closet, turning to look at her as he says, “you fell asleep pretty quick.” And then he turns back to his rack of shirts while she stares. He fingers through the fabrics, finding the blue dress shirt he wants. 

“Well…” Felicity waits for him to meet her eyes. And after a moment, he does, pushing his arms through the sleeves and looking at her hesitantly. She raises an eyebrow, “Are we okay?”

“I told you,” Oliver shakes his head. “I’m not angry.”

Felicity makes a face, her tired brain working to catch up, remembering all of the concerns she’d mulled over during the car ride home from Slabside the night before. “But...are you _ actually _ not angry? Or do you just think you’re not _ allowed _ to be angry because Mathis started screaming _ ‘you’re mine!’ _ through a prison-sized fence?”

Oliver stops, his hands freezing on the buttons of his shirt where he’d been working his way down. And Felicity pinches her lips together as he digests the information, realizing he hadn’t actually heard that part of the story yet. “Sorry,” she whispers, not liking that she’d caught him off guard or that his eyes visibly darkened as he pictured it. “Look...if there’s anything you need to get off your chest about what happened yesterday…” She trails off, leaving the invitation open. Because she knows he’s upset. And she knows that at least some of his frustration is aimed at her. But he’s too worried about hurting her feelings or making her feel worse to voice it. 

The last thing she wants though, is for Oliver to feel like he has to walk on eggshells around her. She never wants him to bite his tongue for her sake, so she keeps her eyes on him as she straightens her shoulders, waiting for him to take her up on the offer.

“What else did Mathis say?”

“Oh,” she gasps, mentally shrinking away from the memory of the lunatic at the prison. But his voice comes back to her, the words replaying in her head with perfect clarity. “He said he knew I’d come...that it isn’t over.”

Sighing, Oliver abandons his clothes, crossing the room in just his boxers and half-buttoned shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to her legs, keeping his back to her as he speaks, “I’m not mad, Felicity...I’d just like to take the time to talk about this, you know? Everything that happened yesterday, and what it means for us, and what we’re going to do about it.” He tilts his head, looking in her direction but not meeting her eyes. 

“_ What it means for us, _” Felicity repeats, picking up on the phrase. She lets out a sharp breath, forcing a small laugh. “That doesn’t sound good.”

He finally turns, leveling her with a look. “It’s not a bad thing, Felicity,” he shrugs, holding her gaze. “Tonight. Can we talk tonight when we get home?”

She watches him for a moment, trying and failing to read his expression. 

Oliver gives nothing away, as if the whole thing is all business. “Sure,” she finally sighs, looking down at her hands in her lap while she grumbles under her breath, “why not schedule our arguments? That seems normal.”

Her words had barely been comprehensible to her own ears, but of course Oliver didn’t miss it. “We’re not scheduling an argument, baby,” he answers. “We’re planning a conversation.”

“And then what?” Felicity blurts, her fatigue and general anxiety making it hard not to bite back the first words that come to mind.

Oliver pauses, frowning down at her. “What do you mean, ‘and then what?’”

Felicity fidgets, clenching her fingers around the blanket that covers her legs. “What’s going to happen after we talk tonight?”

His frown deepens, his eyebrows pushing together as he tries to understand what she’s asking. “I don’t know...I think we kind of have to talk _first_, don’t we?”

She bites her lip, but nods in agreement. 

Of course, she can’t hide a single expression from Oliver. He reaches back to put his hand over her knee, rubbing his thumb against her fist until she loosens her grip on the blanket and threads her fingers through his instead. “We just need to talk about what happened, Felicity. Our jobs aren’t going to change. We’ll be put in tough situations like this again...where you might have to take a risk and I might have to worry about you. And I just want to make sure that you and I are on the same page when it comes to those decisions.”

Nodding, Felicity looks back up to meet his eyes, relaxing slightly when he smiles at her. “But what if we can’t? Get on the same page, I mean.” 

“Then we try a little harder until we can,” he whispers, quieting her fears with his confidence. “I love you,” Oliver’s smile ticks up a notch, his dimples brightening his expression. “That’s never going to change...even if you scare the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry that I scared the hell out of you.”

Oliver lifts her hand to his lips, ducking his head slightly so he can kiss her knuckles. “You’re safe,” he sighs. “That’s all that matters to me right now.”

Letting out a deep breath, Felicity tries to calm the remaining nerves coursing through her. _ Tonight. They can talk tonight. _ She looks down at where their hands are joined, reveling in the sight of it even more than usual. How his palm encompasses most of her hand. “And you’re not trying to dump me,” she mutters. “That’s all that matters to me right now.”

“Hey,” Oliver’s voice is soft, getting Felicity’s attention back on him. And when she looks up, he’s watching her with his analytical, FBI agent stare. Felicity purses her lips, begging her brain to control her mouth, and Oliver narrows his eyes at her. “Is that what you’re worried about?” 

Felicity doesn’t answer, so he squeezes her hand. 

“I know I said some things on the phone yesterday before you went into the prison, but I was just...worried. I trust you, Felicity. Of course I do. And I—I understand why you thought you had to go. Even if it doesn’t feel that way for you in hindsight, you weren’t wrong. I just need you to talk to me. We need to be able to be honest with each other.” He grins crookedly at her, letting go of her hand so he can cup her cheek, scooting closer on the bed. “Are we at least on the same page about that?”

“Yeah. Honesty,” Felicity breathes, finally feeling light enough to smile back. “We’re on the same page about that.” And it’s the easiest agreement she’s ever made. 

"Then we're on the right track," he sighs, raising an eyebrow as his hand slips under the blanket. His warm palm grips her calf, coasting up her bare thigh and then all the way back down. “Good,” Oliver grumbles, his attention on her legs, which he’s never been shy about appreciating. He digs his fingers gently into the back of her thigh, just below the curve of her ass.

And Felicity shivers, enjoying the touch but unexpectedly being reminded of her conversation with Knox before Mathis was brought out. _ Now get those legs out of my prison. _

She’d almost forgotten the warden’s vile comment. And since Oliver is asking for honesty, Felicity knows it wouldn’t be smart to keep this from him. But she also immediately worries about how he’s going to react.

“Felicity,” Oliver shifts until he’s seated at her hip, bringing both of his hands to her face. He leans in and presses a kiss to her lips, chaste and gentle, but he lingers. And she takes a deep breath in, rubbing her nose against his.

“I know you said you want to talk tonight…” she has to tell him now. “But something happened at the prison yesterday that kind of slipped my mind. And I don’t feel right about waiting all day to tell you.”

Oliver’s back stiffens, his arms tightening around her. And he opens his eyes with his forehead still pressed to hers, leaving the deep blue ache behind his gaze all that she can see. Felicity stares back at Oliver, waiting for him to say something. “What is it?” He asks, his soft voice not matching the fire in his eyes. “You can tell me.”

“Knox is a real tool,” Felicity starts. When she sees that Oliver isn’t following, she rushes to explain. “It’s just something he said, before the whole Mathis thing. It’s really not a big deal, but I just feel like you would want to know.”

He frowns, pulling back an inch to see her better. “What did he say?”

“I offered him some recommendations while he gave us a tour and he was polite enough. But then I mentioned it again when I was waiting for Roy, and Knox said he doesn’t take orders from ‘little bitches’ who act superior,” she caught sight of Oliver raising an eyebrow at that, but continued, just wanting to get the story out. “He also said that going to Slabside was a waste of everyone’s time and told me to get my legs out of his prison. And I mean, obviously,” Felicity rolls her eyes, rushing through the words because she somehow feels embarrassed by it. “Going there was a bad idea. And he’s right, it _ was _ a waste of time if he had no intention of listening to a word I said. Prick. Of course, I knew he was a prick, but he’s a _ big _prick.”

Oliver sighs, “I’ll call him today.”

“What good will that do, Oliver? What’s done is done. I’m not telling you so you can defend my honor here. Besides, I won’t be going back there again.”

“Felicity—”

“I know you wanted to drop it before. And I didn’t listen, so this may sound hypocritical to say...but I really think now is the time to let this go.” She pauses, seeing that Oliver is at least listening, yet maybe not so easily convinced. “We’re fringing on ‘starting war’ territory if we keep pushing the warden’s buttons.”

Oliver glances away with a sigh, “I think it might be a little too late for that,” he grumbles. 

“You were right, Oliver. I didn’t get it before but...I get it now. He’s not someone we should blindly take aim at. We need to be careful.”

“He practically dangled you in front of the serial killer who is obsessed with you. I can’t just drop it, Felicity. Even if you and I weren’t together, you’re _my_ agent. And I take what Knox did as a threat to you. I wouldn't tolerate that for anyone on my team.” 

“Can you just…” Felicity closes her eyes. “Can you leave it alone for today? We can talk about our next step tonight, and then we can figure out what to do _ together_.”

Silence fills the space as an answer, and Felicity opens her eyes again. Beside her, Oliver looks like he’s really thinking about it, deciding if that’s truly what he’s willing to do. So she appreciates it even more when he nods, knowing that he’s _ not _just giving her the response she wants. And Felicity knows that he won’t call the prison and rip Knox’s head off as soon as they get into the office. 

“Okay, we’ll figure it out together.” He doesn’t sound entirely pleased about it, but Felicity nods once, trusting that he’ll stick to his word. “Is that everything?” Oliver finally asks.

His voice is calm, but his eyes give him away. There’s violence hidden beneath them that he hides so well. She recognizes it, though.

Felicity shakes her head, “not quite. Roy told me you’ve tried to open a case against Knox before. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Oliver sighs, “because it didn’t work. And I wasn’t trying to give you more of a reason to go after Knox...not that it matters after yesterday.”

Biting her lip, Felicity reaches for him again, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Honesty, remember?”

He nods, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose just to make her smile. “_ Honestly_,” he emphasizes, “we can talk about that tonight, too. But we need to get to work.”

“Right,” she nods dutifully, earning herself another kiss.

This time she deepens it, pulling him in a little closer. And when he opens his mouth for her, Felicity sighs happily, tugging on his shirt until she’s falling back against the pillows and he’s following effortlessly, landing on top of her.

Neither of them notice when Ophie hops off the bed, sighing in dismay as she stalks out of the room and resettles on the couch.

Despite what he’d just said, it’s Oliver who pushes his hand beneath her shirt, slipping his fingers from her hip to her stomach. His breath grows heavy as he reaches higher, dragging his nails gently over her ribs, sending shivers down her spine.

He’s just wrapped his hand around one of her breasts, his thumb tracing the hardening curve of her nipple, making her body lift off the bed to meet his palm, when her phone chimes from the nightstand beside them. 

Felicity’s hand darts out on instinct, grabbing the phone.

As if in protest, Oliver drops his face to her neck, kissing his way down her throat. And she almost forgets about the text, fixated on the deep groan that rumbles in his chest. But Felicity forces her eyes open to read her screen. She tilts her chin higher, bringing her phone above her head and giving Oliver more access.

Then she snorts as she reads the message. “It’s Dr. Haynes,” she tells him before tossing the phone back on her nightstand. “Wants to schedule an appointment with me right after work. Probably heard about yesterday’s ordeal.” 

He offers a grunt, his lips not slowing down at all, but the sound makes it clear that he’d heard her. That he knows they have to get to work and back to reality.

Felicity knows that, too. Yet neither of them make the slightest attempt to stop. 

She dives her hands into his hair, urging him to keep sucking on the spot below her ear that he’s so intent on marking. And Oliver rolls his hips against her center, humming when her knees fall open, giving him more room. Felicity moans, lifting her legs to hook them over his waist, and he answers it with a needy growl.

His teeth nip at the tender skin of her ear, his tongue remedying it a moment later with a gentle kiss. Her eyes roll shut, her mind void of any of those anxious thoughts that had been troubling her just minutes before. All she feels is him, intoxicating and everywhere.

“Oliver,” Felicity pants his name desperately, knowing that what she needs is obvious with one word. Felicity’s fingers slip down his sides, digging into his hips briefly before she hooks them into the band of his boxers.

He shifts off of her slightly, giving her space to shove the fabric down. And he opens his eyes while she does, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at her with emotion that catches her off guard.

Felicity stares back, finally understanding everything he’s been trying to tell her since he found out she’d gone to the prison. The expression in his eyes is raw, unapologetic, and just as focused on her as she is on him. Oliver blinks, licking his lips while both of their heavy breaths fill the room.

It’s not just frustration that she’d gone behind his back to get to Slabside. It’s more than the stress she knows he’d felt, being helpless and in the dark while she’d been in such a dangerous place. The look on his face is something deeper than concern or anger.

It’s _ fear. _

Looking into Oliver’s eyes, Felicity can see how afraid he’d been. And there’s pain behind his blue gaze that absolutely destroys her. Because it looks like it has absolutely destroyed him. With her heart in her throat, Felicity brings her hands to his face, not breaking their eye contact as she shakes her head in wonder. “Oliver,” she breathes his name again, hoping he can see that she _ gets _it. As she says his name, Oliver closes his eyes, sliding down her body until he can bury his head in her neck. He takes a deep, calming breath, hiding his face beneath her chin. A silent moment passes between them where it feels like they understand each other perfectly. 

On the same page.

And then her phone begins to ring. Felicity groans, picking one hand out of his hair, reaching for the device again until she feels Oliver hug her a little harder, pressing his nose into her chest, and she stops. 

She holds him as tightly as he’s holding her, ignoring the ringing and closing her eyes instead, feeling him melt into her and wanting nothing more than to do the same.

But as soon as the noise stops, it starts again, and Oliver lifts his head from her body with an annoyed huff, his hand stretching out to grab it from her nightstand this time. He frowns when he glances down at the screen, on his way to handing it to her. 

Felicity opens her mouth to ask who it is, but Oliver answers the phone and her question before she gets the words out.

“Harper,” he snaps. “What do you want?”

“Okay, _ Ollie, _” Thea’s voice trills back through the phone, loud and clear. “I see you’re still in a pissy mood this morning. Where’s Felicity?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes at his sister. “What do you want, Thea?”

“I forgot my phone at home, I’m borrowing Roy’s before I drop him off. And I’m calling to ask _ Felicity _if she wants to get lunch today.”

Felicity takes her phone from Oliver, still a little breathless because he’s still between her legs. And because his hair is still disheveled from her fingers, and she can already feel the familiar red burn on her mouth and neck from his beard. “Thea, hey,” she squirms under Oliver, but doesn’t make any real attempt to get up. “You said lunch today?”

“Yeah,” Thea answers easily, “Forage at noon?”

Familiar with Thea’s straightforward, somewhat bossy tendencies, Felicity looks up at Oliver and shrugs. She’s never been one to pass on a panini from their favorite lunch spot. “Sure, I’ll see you then.”

“Great! Tell my brother to take a chill pill, love you, bye!” She hangs up before Felicity has a chance to answer, and Felicity sighs, dropping her phone on the bed and turning her attention back to Oliver. She winds her arms around his neck, scraping her fingers gently through the ends of his hair. 

Oliver bites his lip, fighting a smile as he looks down at her. “I need to get dressed,” she frowns. “All I want to do is take a long bath and then a nap. With you.”

He smirks, “I’m sure after having lunch with my sister, you’ll _ really _want to relax.”

Felicity narrows her eyes at him, knowing that Thea can be a handful when she wants to be. Which definitely runs in the family. “Excuse me, Thea says you're the one who needs to chill."

"Well," he sighs, "I guess there's no time for baths, or naps, or anything else this morning."

Felicity smiles at the puppy dog eyes he gives her, like he's asking her to disagree. "No, I should hurry up and get to work." she says slowly, pushing against his chest. But Oliver just pouts, staying right where he is. “My car is still at the bureau...so unless you want me to make both of us late...”

With a small shrug, Oliver’s smile widens, his intentions obvious in that devilish glint in his eyes. Clearly, he’s not very worried about it. “I don’t mind being a little late if you don't.”

* * *

Thanks to Oliver, they’re more than a little late. Not that she can be entirely mad about it, considering what he’d done that caused them to be late. Three times.

Felicity releases a small sigh as she remembers her morning fondly. She stands up from her desk, grabbing her purse to go meet Thea at Forage. 

Also thanks to Oliver, she’s nervous about that. 

Thea has a reason to be upset with her, since going to Slabside with Roy put him at risk, too. She’d forced him to have to watch her back and his own, worry about keeping both of them safe rather than just himself. And although she’d seen the Dollmaker again through a heavy-duty fence and a wall of guards, Felicity didn’t want to imagine other ways that their reunion could have gone. Not just for her sake, but Roy’s too, since he absolutely would’ve done everything in his power to keep Barton Mathis away from her.

There are too many ways that the Slabside trip could’ve gone wrong. Too many ways it could’ve been _ worse. _ And that thought doesn’t really make Felicity feel any better about what _ did _happen yesterday.

All morning, she fretted over her lunch date with Thea. 

Maybe Oliver’s sister was upset with her for the potential danger she could’ve put Roy in. Or maybe she was angry that Felicity’s actions had worried Oliver so much. Or maybe the smart, savvy, youngest Queen just wanted to let her know that she’d been a total dummy for choosing to go to the prison.

And Thea wouldn’t be wrong. It wouldn’t be out of line for her to be upset. At this point, Felicity is pretty sure that if Thea gave her a lecture, all she’d be able to do is agree with it while she hangs her head in shame.

Being the worrier that she is, Felicity lets herself get worked up the whole way to the restaurant. 

The place is mostly empty when she walks in, so she spots Thea quickly, seated at a table in the back. 

The younger girl is focused on the menu, humming her ‘hello’ as Felicity sits across from her. 

Thea glances up after a moment, blowing out a breath. “I’ve had my heart set on a chicken pesto panini all morning, but they have a new apple and walnut salad that sounds amazing. Want to split…” she stops when she notices the look on Felicity’s face. “Okay,” Thea sighs. “I should’ve known you can’t be normal for two minutes without looking like you’re going to combust.” She grins, placing her hand over Felicity’s on the table. “All right, go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

Felicity opens her mouth to respond, then closes it as she realizes that she'd been prepared to get a tongue lashing. But it didn't seem like that was Thea's intention. The girl waved her hand like she was offering Felicity her full attention. "Come on, spill."

“_Me, _ spill? I figured _ you _had some things you wanted to say to me.”

Thea shrugs in response, letting go of her hand and leaning back in her chair. “Not really. Roy told me what happened yesterday. I don’t think my initial thoughts on _ that _are anything you don’t already know.”

Watching her curiously, Felicity realizes that it’s probably true, and wonders if she’s really going to spare her the lecture. “So you didn’t ask me here to call me a dummy?”

“No,” Thea laughs. “I know how my brother can be when he’s mad, though. Especially if he’s mad _ at _someone, which,” she points to herself, “I was the target for most of our childhood.” She pats Felicity’s hand again, “I just wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to. Someone who understands how moody and closed-off Oliver can be when he’s upset.”

Felicity remembers their morning again, her face turning red as she thinks about things that should never be thought about in front of her boyfriend's sister. He'd told her that he wasn't angry, and she wouldn't have ever thought to call him moody or closed-off. But more than that, they’d talked. And planned to talk some more. Even though Oliver had admitted that he didn't agree with her decision, that he was hurt by it, he'd also made sure to tell her that he loves her. To let her know, in his own way, that he wants to be with her.

And really, that was all Felicity needed to hear.

“I think we’re okay,” she answers truthfully, believing the words as she says them. Felicity nods her head, more sure. “We’re okay.” They wouldn’t have been able to do the things they’d been doing all morning if they weren’t_ okay. _

Thea frowns, her face twisting with confusion. “He hasn’t been acting like an ass about this?” Felicity shakes her head, and Thea looks genuinely surprised. “Wow,” she raises her eyebrows. “I guess my big brother is more evolved than I realized. I came here fully prepared for the worst.”

Felicity relaxes as Thea takes a sip of her water, feeling some of the tension leaving her body while they slip into safer, more familiar conversation. But before they dive into a vent session about their boyfriends, or work, or whatever it may be, Felicity has to ask. “What was the 'worst' that you were prepared for?” 

With a grin and a shrug, Thea tells her. “Groveling for you not to dump Ollie even if he’d been treating you like crap. It was a hard argument to come up with, considering I seriously considered disowning him, on more than one occasion, when I was a teenager. And because I know that you'd never let anyone treat you like crap.”

Chuckling, Felicity reaches for the water Thea had ordered her, relaxing even more. “Oliver has been nothing but kind and supportive since I met him,” she sighs. “Last night when I got home...was no different. I know he’s still upset about what I did, but he’s not being a jerk about it. We’ll figure it out.” Even though she’d been less confident in that earlier this morning, Felicity says the words with certainty. Because they _ will _figure it out. They always do.

Thea quirks an eyebrow, “how mature of you. I argued with Roy until we were too tired to argue anymore.”

Felicity winces, giving her friend a sympathetic look. “It wasn’t Roy’s fault. Oliver was making him go, and I tricked him, and he did everything to keep me safe.”

“Of course he did,” Thea replies instantly. “But what he should have done was turn the car around and bring you back here as soon as he realized what you were doing.”

Her voice holds an intense protectiveness behind her words, and it reminds her of Oliver. 

“I think he was just worried about getting home on time for your date,” Felicity tries again, but then purses her lips, remembering how late they’d gotten back. “Which he must have missed anyway.”

If there’s anyone to be upset with over what happened yesterday, it’s her. She hadn’t given Roy a say in the matter, and after the way he’d had her back at Slabside, it felt wrong to allow Thea to put the blame on him.

“Look,” the youngest Queen answers, straightening her shoulders. “We’re not here to talk about Roy. This is about you and my brother. All I know is that Ollie has never had the healthiest coping skills, and he tends to give up when things get too complicated. I’ve only seen him dedicate his time and energy into three things; his job, me, and now you. I’m just saying...it would suck to see him ruin what he has with you.”

“Thea,” Felicity shakes her head, smiling gently at the young girl; so concerned for her brother’s happiness. 

Damn the Queen siblings and their giant hearts, they’d both melted Felicity’s instantly. 

“Oliver and I are going to be just fine.” Felicity scrunches her nose, “but I appreciate how much you care. It’s really sweet.”

Thea scoffs, glancing away as if she has to maintain her badass, snarky reputation. Even though Felicity already knows her so much better than that. “Okay, well, good.” She nods once. “Now, I might need your advice on something.” 

Felicity raises an eyebrow as Thea fidgets. 

“It’s possible that I may have overreacted a little bit last night and I think that maybe I owe Roy an apology.”

Felicity grins, feeling the remaining pressure evaporate between them. “So then apologize.”

“Well, I still think I was right about some things.”

Rolling her eyes, Felicity answers, “then apologize for what you feel wrong about.”

In response, Thea pouts. “But I hate being wrong.”

She laughs, seeing so much of Oliver in his sister that it makes her feel a little better. 

It’s no wonder she views them as two of the best friends she’s ever had. Why she adores Thea as much as she adores Oliver. They’re both so easy to love. 

Slipping into a comfortable conversation with Thea turns out to be exactly what Felicity needed. Letting Thea distract her from all the stress brought on by Mathis, Slabside, and warden Knox makes the rest of her day go more smoothly, too. Back to the normalcy she’d grown comfortable with after two years.

By the time Felicity gets back to headquarters, she decides to text Dr. Haynes and ask if they can reschedule her session for tomorrow instead of later that night.

Once her therapist agrees, Felicity smiles, already cooking up a plan as she gets back to work; a nice, surprise dinner at home that she can make for Oliver. Where they can relax, talk, and decide their next steps with Mathis and the awful warden _together. _A conversation like that would've been one that Felicity happily ran from, if she was dating anyone other than Oliver Queen. In fact, if she was dating someone else, under these circumstances, Felicity probably would have given up a long time ago. But Oliver makes her feel safe. He makes her feel brave. And he makes her finally realize that as far as their relationship goes, she has nothing to be afraid of.

* * *

Oliver steps out of his office as soon as he knows his last agent has headed home for the night. He always likes being the last one out, but damn Ramirez for sticking around an extra thirty minutes just to debrief on a case that really didn’t need debriefing. 

He hurries to lock the door, checking his watch and hoping he still has enough time to make it home before Felicity. First, he has to pick up wine, flowers, and dinner, which should help their night go a whole lot smoother. 

With his hands in his pockets, Oliver moves quickly towards the elevator, checking his watch again. If he calls her favorite Chinese takeout place in the car, he should have enough time to grab the wine and flowers, pick up the food, and beat Felicity home.

Rounding the corner, Oliver stops when he sees the doors opening. And he frowns at Carter Blackthorne, stepping off the elevator with his face all red and angry, and a file clutched in his fist.

“Shit,” Oliver mumbles to himself, already realizing that the guy is on the hunt for him. Although he's curious about what Blackthorne's problem is, Oliver quickly considers ducking into a supply closet to hide. He really, _really_ doesn't want to let the irritating agent put a dent in his plans. Or his mood. But a moment later, Carter notices him, aiming his annoying, stomping feet right at Oliver.

“Queen,” Blackthorne points his finger, barreling towards him like a bat out of hell. 

All Oliver gives in reaction is a raised eyebrow, stopping in the hallway but keeping his hands in his pockets.

Carter doesn’t stop until he’s toe to toe with Oliver. “What the hell did you do?”

Looking him up and down, Oliver clears his throat. “Why don’t you take five steps back and try that again, _agent_.” His voice is authoritative, almost reprimanding, but Oliver doesn’t care. He’s worked hard to maintain professionalism and gain respect from the bureau, and he’ll be damned if a hot shot on the Behavioral Analysis Unit undermines him.

“I know you had something to do with this,” Carter accuses, not backing down. Oliver blinks, seeing that the conversation is useless when his temper is clearly flaring. There'd been a time when he was just as short-fused. But luckily, he grew up. So, rather than wasting his breath or his time, Oliver sidesteps the fuming agent and moves towards the elevator again. 

“I’m not done talking to you!” Blackthorne yells, reaching to grab Oliver’s arm.

Oliver turns before Carter lays a hand on him, looking at him with a violent warning in his eyes, but speaking calmly. "If you still want to have a job in the morning, then I suggest you stop talking, agent Blackthorne.”

Before he’s even done, Carter is shaking his head, once again pointing a finger in Oliver’s face. To that, Oliver turns his back on the agent again, careful to keep track of him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a coincidence,” Carter continues after Oliver, trailing behind him to the elevator. But he's smart enough to keep his hands to himself now, apparently. “One day, you ask me for Dover’s files, and the very next day, he breaks out of a maximum security prison!? I think I deserve to know why!”

Oliver freezes.

And it's his stillness that finally calms Carter Blackthorne down. Scares him. The man swallows, “with all due respect, sir...I demand answers. I want to know why my team wasn't notified—”

“What did you just say?” Oliver asks through clenched teeth, feeling his heart sink like a rock into his stomach.

Carter stutters, surprised by whatever rage he senses coming off of Oliver. “Stanley Dover. The Star City Slayer that the BAU caught...he escaped Slabside earlier today.” As Oliver grits his teeth, glaring as if agent Blackthorne had unlocked the doors himself, realization floods his expression. “You didn’t know?” Carter's eyes widen in shock.

“No,” Oliver says through a clenched jaw. “What. Happened?”

Thrown off guard, Blackthorne's anger dissipates. “Warden Knox called to inform us that Dover used the trash chutes to get out. They’re not sure where he ended up or even if he survived the fifteen story drop from the chute to the water below. But him and one other prisoner escaped earlier this afternoon. Knox wanted to wait until they had more information to call… I thought he talked to you before he called me.”

“Who was the other prisoner?” Oliver asks.

“I—I don’t know. Knox wouldn’t say. He said it wasn’t relevant to any FBI investigations.”

_ Bullshit. _

With every gut instinct Oliver has and trusts, he knows who else escaped.

* * *

The smell of smoke is the first thing Felicity can pay any mind to. It’s thick and full of fumes. Nothing like the campfires at space camp. It burns her nose with every breath she’s aware of, making her head spin. And the first thing she thinks of is her nightmare.

She’s never been able to _ smell _the fire that burns while she dies, she’s only been able to see the flames vividly, reaching for the sky at first, and then slowly and quietly dimming, fading, just like her.

Even in her haze, she knows that something isn’t quite right about this nightmare, though.

The surface she’s on is gravelly and hard, not smooth and cold like Mathis’ metal table. Her arms and legs feel heavy, but the restraints that seem so real in the nightmare are gone.

There’s nothing holding her down except her own body. 

Knowing that, Felicity forces her eyes open, forces herself to take in her surroundings but everything is blurry. A sharp pain radiates from the back of her head to the front as soon as she blinks, making her eyes water.

At first, all she can see is the flames. And all she can understand is that she’s on the ground. The tar is hot and wet beneath her back, and the smell of gasoline is strong, burning her eyes as she blinks.

Every instinct in her body screams at her to get away; reminds her that gasoline and fire do _ not _mix, and if the smell and heat are any indication, she’s in the middle of a recipe for disaster. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” a voice calls from somewhere behind her.

Felicity tries to turn her head, but it only hurts worse, so she follows her instincts, telling her to run.

Her legs don’t seem to agree with her head, and she only makes it to her knees, crawling away from the heat of the fire, hoping she’s moving in the right direction. Somewhere safe. And then Felicity feels a rough kick against her hip, knocking her over.

With a pained groan, she lands on her back, seeing the dense smoke billow up towards the sky. She can't help but notice how eerily similar to her nightmare it feels. But usually when she suffers through the dream, there is a sky full of stars that she stares up at. Here, the smoke is too thick to see anything. Tears sting in her eyes, her lungs burning as she struggles for air.

Felicity's head falls to the side, her eyes shifting up to the clouds of thick smoke and back down to the fire burning.

She stares at the flames, unable to tell what it is that's engulfed in the midst of them. These flames are frenzied and violent, not slow and flickering like the ones in her dream. And Felicity wonders how long she'll be staring at them before they begin to fade. Before she begins to fade.

_No._ This isn't her nightmare. She’s not strapped to a table. She's not paralyzed with fear.

_She's not dying here._

Felicity chokes, coughing on the air and finding strength in her own voice. But just as she pushes up onto her elbow, a pair of black boots stand in front of her, narrowly missing her fingertips, stopping before they're crushed. Tilting her head up, Felicity follows the shape of the figure looming above her. She blinks through the smoke, until the Dollmaker's face comes into view.

* * *

In the back of his mind, Oliver knows that Felicity is safe. 

But it doesn’t stop the voice in his head that says something is _ wrong. _ And for once, Oliver fights against that instinct. Because he needs to get to Felicity, which he has to keep his head on straight in order to do. 

He can see Carter Blackthorne out of the corner of his eye, following him to the elevator, and when that takes too long, to the stairs. Oliver ignores him, taking out his phone to call Felicity instead.

It goes straight to voicemail twice before Oliver makes it down the first flight of stairs. 

“Where are you going!?” Blackthorne calls after him, but Oliver ignores him, and ignores the knot forming in his stomach.

She turns her phone off when she meets with Dr. Haynes. That’s all that this is. _She's safe._ He saw her after she got back from lunch with his sister. And she'd been in the building all afternoon. A federal building full of federal agents. _She's safe._ Maybe he’s about to barge into the therapist’s office in the middle of her session and make a complete ass of himself.

But considering the alternatives, that seems like the best outcome.

Oliver doesn’t slow down until he reaches Dr. Haynes’ door. Only then does he hesitate, listening, but he can’t hear a sound. He raises his fist, knocking on the door in three short raps. And when there’s no response, Oliver shoves the door open, aware that the very act of barging in on something confidential could get him fired, but not having a single care other than seeing Felicity's face and knowing that she's okay.

From her desk, Dr. Haynes yelps, quickly pulling the headphones from her ears where she'd been dancing in her chair. “Director Queen,” the therapist gasps, “what are you doing here?"

His eyes dart around the room, finding it empty and feeling his heart jump from his stomach to his throat. “Where’s Felicity?”

The doctor frowns, “she rescheduled our session earlier...wanted to meet tomorrow instead. Is everything okay?”

Instantly, the air in the room seems thinner. _Panic _crawls into his chest. But Oliver pulls his phone from his pocket again with a shaking hand. This time, he doesn’t bother calling Felicity, knowing in his heart that she won’t pick up. Instead, he calls the only person who can give him answers.

“Slabside Penitentiary. Phone calls must be made between 8:00AM and 4:00PM. Unless this is an emergency, please try back in the morn—”

“This is agent Oliver Queen with the FBI,” he interrupts. “I need you to put Barton Mathis on the phone. Right now.”

After all of this, he’s not taking his chances. He doesn’t trust _ anyone _at that prison.

“Oh,” the guard stumbles with his words, instantly flustered. “Barton Mathis is still in the hole, director Queen.”

Oliver growls, “I said...I want to talk to him. Go get Mathis. Now!”

“I—I can’t do that, Director Queen.”

“Where. Is. He?”

The guard lets out an exasperated breath. “I’m supposed to tell you that he’s still in the hole,” the man whispers now, barely audible. “But clearly you already know that’s not true. Knox knew you'd call soon enough, he told us we have to lie. But I also know that you tried to save my buddy Bennett during that riot."

Oliver’s heart sinks.

“No one knows when it happened, exactly,” the guard continues. “Barton Mathis escaped.”

He can practically feel his blood running cold. Something inside him snaps. Something that won’t ever be fixed. This _ can’t _be happening to her again.

“Director Queen…” Carter Blackthorne cuts through his spiraling thoughts. His unraveling. Although he had been happy to freeze the agent out before, his tone catches Oliver’s attention. Carter stands at the window, not looking at him as he stares down at the parking lot.

He sees the smoke before Blackthorne raises his hand to point it out. And Oliver quickly recognizes what's underneath all the smoke. Felicity’s car sits in the middle of the empty parking lot, just where she'd left it.

Up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Running and hiding* Let me know (gently, I'm still fragile) what you think!!


	7. Chapter 7

The chair outside of the coroner’s office is uncomfortable. After all the times Oliver has been down to the morgue before, he’s never had a reason to sit there. To wait. But now...his hands ache from how tightly he’s been gripping them together.

Actually, his whole body aches. He knows he needs to have a medic check him out; his suit is burned and ashy from the fire, he can feel the soot on his skin as well as a few burns underneath. But that will all have to wait. There’s no way he can move. Not until he gets an answer.

Oliver has been sitting in that chair for almost an hour, and he knows there’s chaos in his department above. He knows his team is in all-hands-on-deck mode. And he’d been planning to join them. Yet, he’s finding it impossible to move. Not until he knows. He’ll be useless until he knows.

_ He has to know. _

Because all he can think about is Felicity’s car in the parking lot, engulfed in flames. It was a sickening sight. And when he ran downstairs and saw that there was a figure _ inside _ her car, when the fear hit him that it could be _ her_...well, he was still swallowing back bile just thinking about it.

After a while, John appears in the hallway, squatting down in front of Oliver’s face to get his attention. “Hey,” Digg’s eyes move from the medical examiner’s door to Oliver. “Any word?”

“No,” Oliver croaks, his voice hoarse from the smoke. The body that he pulled from Felicity’s car earlier was unrecognizable. It was barely a body, really...just charred flesh and bones. “Female in her late twenties, but they haven’t identified her yet...”

He can’t find it in himself to associate Felicity with the body he’d pulled from the wreckage. He just can’t. Although the coroner already seems to think that the body will end up belonging to Felicity and he’s just waiting for the DNA results to confirm it, Oliver isn’t willing to accept that outcome. 

“It could’ve been a distraction,” John sighs, rubbing his hand against his jaw. “Mathis isn’t stupid. He would want us to think that Felicity is dead.”

Oliver instantly winces at the words, the string of them put together, out loud, despite his best efforts not to allow himself to go there.

_ Felicity is dead. _

“I know,” he whispers back weakly. “A distraction would make sense.”

“He was last seen at a gas station a few miles from Slabside,” Diggle continues. “Sara and Harper are following up with the witnesses and checking footage from the security cameras. Ramirez and Curtis are working on the evidence from Felicity’s car.”

Picking his head up, Oliver looks at John. “What do they have so far?”

“Felicity left the building a little after 6:00. The fire started a few minutes later, but the cameras that cover the parking lot were all knocked out just before. They’re canvassing the area for signs of her,” Diggle meets his eyes, looking apologetic as he finishes, “nothing yet.”

Oliver wants to have hope. 

His instincts are telling him to have hope, and he wants to trust them. But he can’t shake the small part of him that fears the worst. The body fit Felicity’s age and height. He’d pulled that woman from the car that Felicity has owned for nearly a decade. She was heading to the parking lot _ minutes _before her car was set on fire. And they can’t find proof that she was kidnapped.

He wants to have hope. He really does. But at what point does hope become a fantasy?

“Look, man...we could really use your help. The rest of the agents can start looking for leads. They’re going to need your guidance, though.”

Keeping his eyes on the door, knowing that the medical examiner could be in there at that moment, confirming that his girlfriend is dead, Oliver whispers back, “I think you can handle it. You know The Dollmaker better than anyone, John. Figure out his next move and get the team to work. I...I need to stay here.”

“It should come from you. I mean, Oliver...what if Felicity is still out there?” He doesn’t have to add in, _ and you’re just sitting down here, doing nothing, _ but Oliver can hear it in his tone nonetheless. 

“What if she’s not?” Oliver asks through clenched teeth, blinking back tears as he stares down the door to the coroner's office. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to swallow the vomit that rises in his throat once again. The feeling in his chest when he first realized that there was a body inside Felicity’s car, the image more gruesome and terrifying than anything he’d ever seen before, and the memory of pulling it out of the flames...it’s something that will be engraved in his brain forever. He clenches his shaking hands into fists, forcing himself to keep it together. “What if she’s in that room? What if she’s...right there, and I’m not here when the coroner...No,” he shakes his head firmly. “I need to be here, John.”

With a sigh, Diggle nods. “All right, man. I get it. I’ll have the team start working the case.

As his friend leaves, Oliver instantly begins to doubt himself. Felicity could be out there. She could be in trouble. 

He’s never been much of a praying man. But Oliver has never felt more lost, more unlike _ himself _ than in those minutes; waiting to hear whether or not the love of his life, the woman he wants to marry, is dead. His head drops into his hands, and he isn’t even sure who he’s talking to as he starts to mumble, to beg, “please...”

“Director Queen?”

Oliver’s head snaps up to see the medical examiner coming into the hallway, a file in his hand as he closes the door behind him. “The dental records were inconclusive…” His heart drops. “But DNA samples were not a match. The body in the car does not belong to Felicity Smoak.” 

With his breath in his throat, Oliver stands up quickly, nodding as he tries to wrap his head around the rollercoaster of emotions rushing through him. “Please identify her. I want to know who the woman was and how she ended up there.”

The medical examiner nods, turning back into the room. 

Oliver feels like he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him. Relief and fear battle inside of him, his hands shaking as he forces his legs forward. It wasn’t her.

_ She’s alive. _

And now he needs to get his head on straight and find her.

Knowing that Felicity is out there still, knowing that the body wasn’t hers, he hurries up to his team, hoping that they have something. Anything. Any lead on The Dollmaker. 

As soon as the elevator doors open, he’s bombarded with noise. The office is filled with agents, all of them bustling around, working their asses off to find Felicity.

He lets out a breath of relief, heading towards one of the conference rooms where he can see John talking to a group of their newer agents, case files across the table that he knows are detailing Barton Mathis’s horrors. 

It’s all happening again…

John looks up as Oliver approaches, meeting his eyes through the glass. And Oliver shakes his head, certain that his friend will understand. _ It wasn’t Felicity. _

The relief on John Diggle’s face is clear, reminding Oliver that he isn’t the only one who cares. He isn’t the only one here who loves Felicity and will do anything to get her back safely.

So, fighting his instinct to control everything, he lets his agents do their jobs. He listens as they debrief him on their leads. He delegates the work. He trusts that everyone is doing everything that they possibly can. Because if he doesn’t, if he tries to do it all himself, he knows that he’ll only be preventing the team from doing what they do best. And putting Felicity in even more danger.

Felicity is one of them. She’s been a part of this team for the past two years. And there’s no way any of these agents would let her die.

_ That _is what he has to believe in.

Their most promising lead at the moment is a woman who reported her car stolen thirty minutes before Felicity went missing. It happened less than five miles from headquarters, and Curtis has already located the stolen car on some traffic cams.

The driver’s face isn’t clear in any of the images and they haven’t been able to pick it up on any cameras, but it’s still worth putting an APB out on it. Which Diggle has already done.

Oliver relaxes, just a little. Everyone is working hard, and he feels like he’s working hard just to keep his composure. To try seeing these pieces as any other missing person case he’s ever worked. Although, of course that’s nearly impossible to do. “What’s the plan for the Holland Forest?” Oliver asks quietly, glancing around the room at the other agents. “If The Dollmaker has her...he would take her there.”

Finally, one of the newer, and braver, detectives steps forward, lifting her chin as she answers, “we’ve asked ten different precincts across town to help search. There are about one hundred officers out in those woods right now...should be close to three hundred within the hour.”

“Dogs?”

“Soon,” the agent nods proudly. “Mrs. Smoak will be here any minute with some articles for the dogs to get a scent from.”

At that, Oliver freezes. “Mrs. Smoak.”

“Donna, sir.”

The answer makes him wince, hating that her mother has to go through this again. But it’ll also be the best chance they have to find Felicity if Mathis takes her back to that dense, dark forest. His own agents had gotten turned around and disoriented in there before. And Mathis knows the terrain like it’s his home. He’s also had two years in prison to plan all of this. So they’re already at a disadvantage in more ways than one.

As they strategize how and where to utilize the police officers in the Holland Forest, Curtis peeks his head inside, nodding to Oliver. “No luck on the car yet, but Donna is here.”

Standing up, Oliver heads out into the hallway to greet his girlfriend’s mother. 

There’s no reassurance that he can offer her. There’s nothing he can say to make her feel any better. 

Not this time. 

Not when he knows Donna Smoak so well now.

Not when she knows him, too.

It’s the worst sense of deja vu when he sees Donna standing in the hallway; her eyes red and puffy and her face pale. She has a bag over her shoulder that he knows is full of Felicity’s belongings. And he knows that she stopped at his and Felicity’s apartment to get them, because she also has Ophie’s leash in her hand, the dog sitting obediently at her feet. 

Donna’s expression breaks when she notices Oliver walking towards her, her hand coming up to cover her trembling lips as tears start to fall. He sighs, feeling her pain like it’s his own. Because it is. Two years ago, when he first met Donna Smoak for the first time, exactly like this, he’d sympathized with her grief and her fear.

Now...that grief and pain is reflected in Donna’s eyes once again. And now, Oliver _ feels _it. All of it. Tearing his heart in two. Because he loves Felicity, too.

“How is this happening again?” Donna whimpers just as Oliver reaches her, instantly wrapping his arms around her. He can feel Ophie nudging her nose against his leg, but he ignores the dog for now. Instead, he keeps both of his arms locked around Donna’s shaking frame, suddenly afraid that she might collapse if he lets go.

“We’re going to find her,” Oliver chokes out. “I told you before that we would. And we will now.”

Donna shakes her head, keeping it buried in his chest. “Kidnapped by a serial killer. _ Twice. _ My baby doesn’t deserve this.”

“No,” Oliver mumbles. “She doesn’t. I promise you...I’ll make sure he can never hurt her again.”

It’s a thought that crossed his mind hundreds of times since he fought Barton Mathis two years ago, and let him live. Even though he could have killed him without an ounce of remorse, Oliver had always been glad that he didn’t. Because ever since then, Mathis has been giving him the names of his victims. His team has been able to give their families closure. They’ve been able to connect open investigations to a decade-long killing spree by one man and close those cases.

He always thought that it had been worth it.

Yet, in the back of his mind, there’s been doubt that creeps in from time to time.

_ Wouldn’t the world be better off without Barton Mathis in it? _

Tonight, he found his answer.

And Oliver knows that if he has the chance...he’ll kill Mathis without hesitation.

“Come on,” he steps back from Donna, giving her the best, yet pathetic, smile that he can manage. Then he leans down to scratch behind Ophie’s ear, getting her favorite spot. “Let’s get this stuff out to the search and rescue team.”

As he leads Donna to the conference room, Oliver feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, pausing in the hallway. He frowns when he pulls it out and sees an unknown number. “Excuse me, Donna,” he gestures toward John and the others, “agent Diggle can help you. I have to take this.”

With his heart pounding in his chest, he quickly turns on his heel and heads towards one of the empty conference rooms where it’s quieter. “Hello?”

“Oliver Queen.”

He pauses with his hand on the door, trying to recognize the voice that answers. It doesn’t sound like Mathis. He’s certain that he would recognize The Dollmaker’s strange, higher tone if it was. “Who is this?”

“We met. Briefly,” the man responds. “At Slabside. My name is Stanley Dover.” Oliver stops in the middle of the dark conference room, his mind racing. “Mr. Queen?”

“Yes,” he breathes, staying cautious because he’d looked over the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s report on Dover. The Star City Slayer. And this man was unstable _ before _he’d been locked away at Slabside. “I remember you. I was told that you escaped with Barton Mathis.”

“No,” Stanley groans. “No, no, no. You’ve got it wrong. I didn’t go _ with _Mathis. I saw him escaping. I had to do something. I followed him because I wanted to help you like you helped me. I heard what he said to you during the riot, Oliver. He told you that if he found a way out of Slabside, he would come after Felicity. You...you love her, right? Mathis wasn’t lying about that…?”

Oliver clears his throat, “Mr. Dover...if you know where Barton Mathis is, I’m going to need you to tell me. You said you want to help, don’t you?”

Stanley Dover laughs in response; a dark, manic chuckle that makes Oliver worry he’s said the wrong thing. “I’m already helping, Oliver. I told you...I had to do something.”

Biting his tongue, Oliver calls on all of the patience he has to stop himself from snapping. He doesn’t speak until he’s certain that he can keep his voice calm. “Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you that. I called to let you know...you need to tell the press that the girl in the car was Felicity Smoak. You’re going to want Mathis to think she’s dead.”

Letting out a sharp breath, Oliver is slightly less calm as he demands, “how did you know about that?”

Dover’s reply is just as sharp and just as quick. “Because I put her there. Listen, I’m on a burner phone. I can’t have Mathis tracking me. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Tell the world that Felicity is dead. Then she’ll be safe.”

His chest feels tight, his lungs burning for a breath he forgets to take. “What do you mean...she’ll be safe? Stanley. Do you know where Felicity is?”

“Don’t freak out…” the man answers slowly. Carefully. “I have Felicity.”

_ Shit. _

“Okay...okay, Stanley, just listen to me. You can bring Felicity back, right? We can keep her safe here. I can protect her and I...I need to. Please. We know that Mathis is out of Slabside now and we know what we’re dealing with...thanks to you. So, if you really want to return the favor because I helped you that day of the riot...then let _ me _make sure Felicity is safe.”

He hears Stanley Dover sigh on the other end, “it’s too late, Oliver. If I bring her back there, he’ll know. Mathis is probably still watching you guys at the FBI. I wasn’t even sure that I escaped without him seeing us, but I was careful. I know we weren’t followed. Now you need to focus on catching him. I made that possible.”

“And then what, Stanley? You’ll bring her home and go back to Slabside once Mathis is off the streets? What’s your plan?”

“Yes. I’ll bring her back once it’s safe. I’m repaying a debt here, Oliver. I promise you that I won’t hurt Ms. Smoak. I won’t touch her. I’m going to keep her safe for you until Mathis isn’t a threat anymore, and then I’ll let her go. But you need to stop looking for her and confirm that the woman you found in her car was Felicity. That will throw Mathis off. He’ll be distraught and he’ll make mistakes. You’ll find him soon enough.”

Oliver has had enough experience with people like Stanley to know how to deal with them. And to know how to talk to them. From what he remembers of Dover’s file, he has a quick fuse and an obsessive need to please the people he deems worthy of his efforts. Eventually, that spiraled into a killing streak that earned him the title of Star City Slayer.

It seems that Oliver has become his source of validation. And it’s a thin line between being idolized by a clinically insane man, and being the one who disappoints him.

“If Felicity is there…” Oliver whispers, “can I speak to her? Just so that I can know she’s okay. Please.”

“She’s...sleeping.”

Oliver closes his eyes, a war brewing within himself. The good agent who would play along with this back and forth if it means keeping a hostage alive as long as possible vs the boyfriend who wants to beat the shit out of this weasley little man until he lets Felicity go.

“Look,” Stanley sighs. “I’ll grab another burner phone and have her call you when she wakes up. But that will _ only _happen once I see confirmation on the news that she’s dead. Okay?”

“Okay,” Oliver quickly agrees. “Okay, that sounds fair.” _ Not fair at all. _ “And Stanley...it scares me that I’m not with her. It scares me that Mathis is free and that he’s looking for her. But I…I’m glad that she’s safe. Thank you for doing what needed to be done. Just promise me that Felicity is going to be okay.” _ Because if she’s not...there will be hell to pay, not just a debt. _

“I told you,” Dover sighs, sounding calm and relaxed, which Oliver sadly realizes is the best he can hope for right now. He doesn’t want to know what could happen if Dover gets angry or loses whatever misguided faith he’s put on Oliver. “I’ll take care of her. She’s going to be safe with me.”

* * *

The silence in the room as Felicity wakes up is relaxing. She feels well-rested for the first time in days. She can tell that Oliver isn’t in bed with her on instinct, not needing to open her eyes. With a groan, she lets herself wake up slowly, peeking one eye open to see if he’s near.

But she’s not where she expected at all.

Felicity blinks in confusion at the unfamiliar room. And then everything comes rushing back. The explosion, her car igniting just as she’d been about to open the door and get into it. Just the memory makes her start to cough, a phantom smoke filling her lungs and stealing her breath. 

She sits up quickly and notices the tension on her left wrist, her fingers and arm going numb as soon as she tries to move. “What the frack?” Felicity mumbles to herself, realizing, in horror, that there are handcuffs around her wrist. Out of instinct, she yanks on it, following the short chain up to the iron headboard of the bed she’s on. It crashes loudly against the wall, but she pulls her arm again, the pain of the metal making her gasp.

As her senses return, her brain catching up to her current predicament, Felicity’s eyes fly around the room. She takes in the dull-looking space; a motel room with stained carpets and peeling wallpaper. The door to get out is across the room from the bed, with a large window beside it, but the curtains are drawn shut, making it impossible to see outside. There’s light coming through the windows, prompting her to look at the clock on the nightstand to check the time. It’s just past 2:00AM...not that that tells her anything, since she has no idea how long she’s been out. And that means that she has no idea where she could be. 

Turning her head, Felicity tries to make sense of the place, seeing that the closet door is open, containing nothing but a black suitcase on the floor. And right next to the closet is another door, a closed one that she assumes is a bathroom.

Knowing that she didn’t get herself to this sketchy motel, Felicity freezes, waiting for some kind of noise from the bathroom so she can find out what the _ hell _is going on.

But the room is completely silent.

Once she realizes that she’s alone, Felicity focuses her attention back on the handcuffs. They’re too tight to slip out of and the headboard is bolted down, so she frantically reaches for the nightstand, looking for something to free herself with. Finding the drawer empty, Felicity’s heart sinks, her panic threatening to take over.

_ Okay...think. _

All of that FBI training had to be good for something. What did they teach her to do in a situation like this? What would _ Oliver _do?

Well, Oliver would probably dislocate his thumb to slip out of the cuff and be on his way within thirty seconds. But she never learned, or wanted to learn, how to do that. She _ did _learn how to pick the lock on a pair of handcuffs, though. She just needed to find something small and sharp enough.

Felicity rolls across the bed, twisting her arm to a painful position as she struggles to reach the other nightstand. As soon as she has it open, she shoves her hand into the drawer and digs around, finding nothing but dust. After a few seconds, her fingers brush against a loose screw in the back corner. She sighs in relief, leaning back onto the bed and hurrying to jam the screw into the lock. Instantly, she can tell that it’s too big, but with the right angle and the right pressure… 

“Come on, come on, come on,” Felicity huffs.

Before she can manage to get the handcuffs off, the door to the motel room swings open, startling her enough that she drops the screw, losing it on the carpet beneath the bed. And she wants to scream, but the man in the doorway is staring at her with wide eyes, mirroring her own expression, she’s sure.

Holding her breath, she watches as he comes into the room, shutting the door and dropping a brown paper bag onto the small, rickety table that sits in front of the window. “You’re awake,” the man says, his voice quiet. Almost _ shy. _

He’s wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt, stepping towards her as he pushes the hood off of his head. Felicity stiffens immediately, shrinking away. The man stops with her reaction, shoving both of his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I’m glad you’re up…” he mumbles cautiously, not meeting her eyes. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Who are you?” Felicity asks.

The man finally looks at her, a timid smile on his lips that she doesn’t return. “My name is Stanley Dover. I’m a friend of Oliver’s.”

“A friend?” She blinks, not taking her eyes off of him. “I’m finding that hard to believe…”

He raises his hands from his pockets, understanding her fear as he explains, “listen, I know this looks bad. But I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help. Barton Mathis is out of prison and he’s going to be looking for you. He won’t be able to find you here...no one knows where you are but me.” 

Felicity’s eyes dart to Stanley Dover’s face.

Those words are not something you want to hear when you’re handcuffed to a bed. He raises his hands again, “no, no,” Stanley quickly defends himself, clearly seeing how much he’s scaring her. “It’s for your own safety. I’ve talked to Oliver. He knows that you’re okay and that I’m going to watch over you until he can find Mathis. That’s our plan, Felicity.”

Taking in his words, trying to decide if they’re true, Felicity watches the man.

Could that really be what’s going on? If Oliver knows that she’s being held captive by a lunatic, then she highly doubts he’d go along with a plan like this. But at the same time, if Barton Mathis, in all his insanity and sinister glory, is really out there and looking for her...then maybe the only way to stop him is with a plan that’s just as crazy and just as sinister.

_ Enter: Stanley Dover. _

By all means, Felicity knows that she isn’t _ safe _here. But maybe it’s good enough for now. It’s not like she has a choice in the matter anyway. The rational side of her brain is telling her to hold tight until she has more details, rather than panic. Her kidnapper seems more skittish than anything, but there’s still an edge about him that would be stupid to ignore. Her gut tells her that it’d be best not to spook him.

“Stanley Dover…” Felicity murmurs, realizing how familiar the name sounds. “I remember now. Oliver mentioned you. He said—” she stops herself from finishing that sentence, her eyes flickering from him to her hand still cuffed to the headboard. 

_ He said you’re the Star City Slayer. _

“Oliver told you about me?”

The look in his eyes is hopeful, but Felicity hesitates, unwilling to voice what came to her mind. 

The BAU had arrested him.

He’s the Star City Slayer.

Stanley Dover is a serial killer.

_ Shit. _

Is she some kind of magnet for serial killers or something? Really, what is the likelihood of being held captive by not one, but _ two _killers in her lifetime? At least Stanley didn’t lock her in a box and bury her in the ground. Or create an obsession about her that spanned a decade before he finally acted on a creepy plan to turn her into the perfect doll.

Although she isn’t sure what earned him the title of a _ slayer _...and she really, really, doesn’t want to find out while she’s in the middle of her current predicament.

“He...he did,” Felicity finally answers. “When Oliver told me about the riot at the prison, he said you were in there with him.”

Stanley sighs, a relieved smile pulling at his lips. “Yes. I was! He saved my life that day. And then Mathis killed that guard, and he was going to hurt Oliver and I—I stopped him.”

Felicity watches the man carefully, trying to get a read on him. “Well,” she keeps her voice calm, trusting her instincts, which in that moment, are telling her not to panic or plead. 

Stanley sees this as doing _ her _a favor, and she has a feeling that it would be a mistake to challenge that. “I’m glad that I have a chance now to thank you. Oliver could have died if you didn’t help him during that fight at Slabside.”

“Exactly,” Stanley nods enthusiastically. “I did what I had to do to protect him, and I’m doing what I have to do to protect _ you. _ I’m sorry that it all happened like this, but I didn’t have much time. I talked to Oliver and he understands that. Can you? Can you understand that, Felicity?”

There’s a line between appeasing someone’s delusion and overplaying it too much, cluing them in to the fact that you’re lying. And it’s a very thin one. “I’m trying to,” Felicity offers carefully, cocking her head to the side. “I’m just a little disoriented. I feel like I’m still trying to catch up...put all the pieces together, you know?”

“Okay,” Stanley nods along, “okay, sure. I can see why you’d feel lost right now, Felicity. But I want you to trust me, just like Oliver trusts me. I only want to help both of you because I owe it to him. What do you want to know?”

_ Bingo. _

“Where am I?”

“A motel in Blüdhaven. About an hour south of Starling.”

Felicity nods, filing the information away. “There was a fire…” she furrows her eyebrows. “My car? Things are a little groggy.”

“Yes,” he breathes. “I’m sorry about your car. It was the only way to make Mathis believe you’re dead. He’ll think you died in the fire and Oliver will find him before he even knows what’s happening.”

“So, you’ve spoken to Oliver since we left the bureau?”

“Yes,” Stanley answers. “I called him. It was risky with Mathis out there, but I wanted Oliver to know that you’re okay. I think he needed to know you’re safe, so that he could focus on catching that son of a bitch.”

“I agree…”

Stanley smiles at her, leaning back against the table behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. Felicity instantly clocks it as a sign that he’s feeling more at ease. He’s starting to relax, to feel comfortable, which is exactly where Felicity wants him. “Smart girl,” he praises. “I told Oliver to announce your death, get it on the news that the body in your car belonged to you.”

Pausing, Felicity blinks up at him, more pieces clicking into place. “Body?”

At the question, Stanley’s smile falls. And he starts to fidget, pulling at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Yes. There was a girl inside your car. Mathis would never believe that you’re dead without a body. He has to believe it.”

She closes her eyes, knowing it’s the only way to hide her fear from him. It’s easy enough to read between the lines. Stanley killed someone for this. He killed someone and set her car on fire all because he thinks it’s his job to protect her and trick Barton Mathis. And he’s given himself the permission to do it.

If Oliver did consent to this “plan,” then he only did it because he’s afraid of how Stanley would react to a rejection, which could be putting _ her _ life in danger. Stanley might be dedicated, or more like _ obsessed, _with helping her survive The Dollmaker a second time, but he is just as dangerous.

And she knows she can’t lose sight of that fact.

Felicity understands now, and she has no intention of underestimating him. “So...we’ll just hide here until Oliver finds Barton Mathis?”

_ Then what? _

“Right,” Stanley confirms. He gestures to the television, “do you want to watch? I’m sure the local stations are covering your, um, fake death.”

“Okay,” she whispers back, thinking that she’d rather do that than have to continue a conversation with him. He nods once, moving across the room to grab the remote off the television stand and turn it on. After searching the channels for a moment, he stops when he finds the right one. Then he settles into the chair next to the bed, his eyes glued to the screen.

Felicity follows his cue, turning her head to the television but keeping him in her line of sight, his movements visible out of the corner of her eye. The local reporter, Becky Mason, is speaking from a sidewalk near the bureau. They don’t let the media on headquarters property, but just behind Becky’s head, there’s a cloud of smoke that she explains is from an agent’s car that caught fire earlier that night. “And with me, I have agent John Diggle, who I’m told supervised the deceased. John, what can you tell us about what happened here last night?”

Holding her breath, Felicity watches as John explains, in a civilian-friendly way, that one of the FBI’s own was killed by The Dollmaker, who escaped Slabside prison the night before. His tone is distant as he speaks, despondent enough to make Felicity’s heart ache, fearing that he actually thinks she’s dead. But she has to believe that he knows better. She has to trust that Stanley Dover is telling her the truth about all of this, because doubting him will only get her in even more trouble.

Her team would know that the body isn’t hers by now...so they must be lying for the reasons Stanley said, right? 

She really, really wants to trust that Oliver knows she’s okay.

“It’s our responsibility to inform you all,” John continues, his eyes focused on the camera, speaking to the city. “The suspect in this investigation is still at large.” He pulls up a photograph of Barton Mathis, his mugshot from the prison. “If anyone in or around this city has information about this man, please contact the police. All authorities are on high alert and ready to respond. We urge everyone in the area to use their best judgement here. Don’t go out unless necessary, lock your doors, and stay safe. Thank you.”

Without another word, John nods to the reporter, indicating that he’s done, and she turns back to the camera as he steps away. “As I’m sure you all remember,” Becky continues, “Barton Mathis was identified as The Dollmaker two years ago and convicted for thirteen homicides over the last decade, although the true number of victims is still unknown. Sources tell us that the serial killer’s death toll is probably closer to thirty women over the course of the last three decades. He was also charged with the kidnapping and attempted murder of Felicity Smoak—”

The screen and the reporter’s voice cut off as Stanley turned the television off. He stands up from the chair with a sigh. “Everything is going according to plan, Felicity. There’s nothing to worry about right now.”

_ Easy for you to say. _

“Okay,” Felicity nods anyway. “You’re right.”

Stanley gestures to the bag he’d been carrying. “I picked up some food and some things I thought you might need.” She watches as he pulls out a bag of chips and a couple of pre-wrapped sandwiches, followed by a bottle of shampoo, soap, and deodorant. “I wasn’t sure what size to get you,” he mumbles, pulling out a pair of leggings and a simple green hoodie next. “They’ll probably be too big, but I figured you would want to change your clothes.”

The ones she’s wearing, the same ones she wore to work, are filthy. She’s covered in soot and dirt, and she can smell the smoke lingering in her hair. “I’d love a shower,” Felicity forces a laugh. And of course, she’d love to be uncuffed. “Thank you for all of this.”

“How about we eat first?” He asks, “then you can take a shower and we can check in with Oliver after.”

“Check in with Oliver?”

Stanley reaches into his pocket, pulling out a key and setting it on the table. Then raises a cell phone, “I picked up a burner phone. We’ll have to toss it after we call him. But I promised Oliver I’d let him talk to you.”

With the knowledge that she’ll get to talk to Oliver, Felicity finds it hard not to scarf down her whole sandwich in two bites. Instead, she takes the time to discreetly peek inside the wrap, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The packaging was still sealed, making her believe that he isn’t trying to poison her via turkey club. But still, she makes sure to wait until Stanley has taken a bite of his own before she digs in.

When they’re done eating, Stanley uncuffs her so that she can take a shower, and Felicity fights the instinctive reaction she has to run for the door. But she can’t guarantee a clean escape, and she doesn’t have enough of a plan, or information about what to do or where to run even if she _ did _make it outside. Ultimately, it’s not worth the risk of breaking Stanley’s trust. If she attempts to escape and fails, it could cost her her life. 

As soon as she gets into the bathroom, Felicity closes and locks the door behind her. Instantly, her heart deflates when she sees that there are no windows in the room. 

_ So it’s the front door or nothing. _

After turning the shower on to drown out the noise, Felicity searches the medicine cabinet, finding it bare. Then she pokes around the rest of the space, realizing that there is nothing there that could help her, and her best chance would probably be with that screw she found in the nightstand. If it comes to that.

She takes her shower quickly, washing her hair and body while she ignores her aching muscles that beg for more time under the warm water. 

Drying off with the towel, she can still smell the smokey scent from the fire. She gets dressed, then rubs her sore wrist and takes a deep breath.

Stanley glances up as she re-enters the motel room. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “I feel a lot better. The handcuffs were just a little tight, I guess. 

“Oh...Felicity, I know you still want to get out of here and get back to help your team. The cuffs are just to make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

Felicity smiles, her hand still wrapped around her wrist. “I know. It’s okay, I understand. And you’re right...I’d have a hard time staying put, so you’re probably doing me a favor.”

“Well, look,” Stanley sighs. “We can leave them off as long as you promise to stay seated in the chair while we call Oliver. I’ll just put them back on before you fall asleep and I won’t do them as tight.”

_ Perfect. _

“That sounds fair. Thank you.”

She sits down in the chair next to the bed, her eyes flickering to the carpet. From this angle, she can see exactly where she’d dropped the screw.

_ Even more perfect. _

Stanley takes a seat on the bed, his foot only a few inches from the screw, and Felicity promptly looks up at him before he can notice what has her attention. He offers a hesitant smile as he holds out the phone to her. Before she can grab it, he pulls it back, meeting her eyes. And this time, the shyness is gone. There’s a coldness in his eyes that makes Felicity stop. “Promise me you’re not going to call the cops.”

“I promise I won’t,” she chokes out, taken aback by the look on his face. Harsh. Almost threatening. A brief glimpse of a side of Stanley Dover that she never wants to see...

Satisfied, he gives her the phone. 

“Thanks,” Felicity whispers. It’s probably the most sincere word she’s spoken to him all evening. Real appreciation floods through her as she finally gets her hands on the phone. Quickly dialing Oliver’s number, she keeps her eyes on Stanley, watching her kidnapper as he glances around the room. 

It rings twice before Oliver answers, his voice strained. “Hello?”

“Oliver,” she breathes, relief flooding her at the sound of his voice. It takes her breath away how much her heart _ soars _just to hear him. And it reminds her of the first time she’d met him; just his voice, a beacon of hope in the darkest experience of her life. 

“Felicity?”

“Yeah,” she chokes. “Yeah, it’s me.”

His huff of surprise, of relief, almost makes her smile. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” her eyes shift to Stanley. “Stanley is taking good care of me.”

“Is he there now?” Oliver asks. Felicity bites her lip, letting her silence be the answer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Inhaled a little smoke, but other than that, I’m okay.”

“Can he hear me?”

“No.”

His voice still drops with his next question. “Are you in any danger?”

“Not now,” Felicity answers gently, aware that he’s asking yes or no questions because he knows Stanley is in the room. 

“Did he hurt you?” Oliver growls.

“No.”

“Felicity…” The pain in his voice rings loud and clear. “I’m doing everything I can to find you.”

“I know,” she whispers back. 

After a brief moment, before Oliver can sink too far into the emotions they’re both feeling, she keeps the conversation focused. “What’s the latest on Mathis?”

Olive sighs, and Felicity’s heart clenches at the exhaustion she can hear in it. She knows him well, and she knows that he’s probably a mess about this. “No leads. We assume he’s either in the wind or looking for you. If he’s smart, he’s on his way out of this country right now.”

“Well, he _ is _smart, but he’s also…”

_ Crazy. Obsessed with her. Never going to stop until he kills her. _

“I know,” Oliver says softly. “Do you have a way to escape if you need to?”

“...sort of.”

“Okay,” he breathes. Not that she can run her half-baked plan with the screw in the nightstand by him at the moment. Or even tell him that she’s in Blüdhaven. And not that he can ask. “Okay, that’s something. Please just be careful, Felicity. Stanley is dangerous. Don’t take a risk unless you have to, but always keep a plan in the back of your mind.”

“I know.”

“Can you put him on the phone?”

Felicity hesitates, not sure if she wants to let the two of them talk when Oliver’s voice is all growly like that. “Um...sure.”

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“I will. _ I _ promise.”

He lets out a chuckle, the sound breathy and forced, but it’s exactly what she needs to hear. “I love you. So much,” he whispers.

Letting out a deep breath, Felicity closes her eyes, giving herself one brief moment to pretend she isn’t in that motel room with a serial killer. For just a breath, she lets the words settle as if it’s any other night at home with the man she loves. “I love you, too.”

Without another word, Felicity holds the phone out to Stanley, catching the surprised look on his face as he leans forward to take it. “Hello?”

She listens, or at least tries to, while Stanley talks to Oliver in a hushed voice. First, he assures Oliver that she’s not hurt and that she won’t _ get _hurt. And then he tells Oliver, not for the first time, apparently, that he can’t tell him where they are. Stanley promises that Felicity will get home safe, giving her a small nod as he says it, making the promise to both of them. 

After that, the two men seem to go back and forth about something. Felicity can only hear Stanley’s side of the conversation, but she gets the gist of it. Oliver wants him to keep the burner phone, or to buy another one, so that he can speak to them again. And Stanley is clearly too paranoid for it. 

“You know,” Felicity chimes in, leaning forward in her chair. “Burners are already pretty low-profile, but you’re right to be cautious, Stanley. A skilled hacker would be able to trace one. I’m a skilled hacker too though, and I could take that thing completely off the grid if you give me a few minutes to program it. Then we could talk to Oliver whenever we want and Mathis wouldn’t have any way of finding it.”

Stanley pauses, considering her words as he looks down at her. “Can you really do that?” Felicity nods, assuring him, and then she can hear Oliver’s voice coming from the phone, but she can’t make out what he’d said. “She’s right, Stanley. It’s the safest way for all of us to survive this. We need to keep contact.”

“You’re sure?” Stanley asks, looking at Felicity.

“I promise,” she assures him. “It’s my life on the line, right? I wouldn’t suggest this if I wasn’t absolutely sure that I could do it.”

A long silence fills the room.

Clearly, Stanley is still skeptical. “All right, we’ll keep a burner to check in again,” he eventually answers. Felicity lets out a breath of relief, and swears she can feel Oliver’s relief on the other side of the phone. “I’ll destroy this one and buy another in the morning. Then Felicity can program it and we’ll call tomorrow.”

Felicity’s relief falters, her heart sinking at the idea of hanging up _ that _phone, destroying it, and having no way to call Oliver again. Not Stanley gets another burner. “Wait, I can program that one!”

“No,” Stanley says slowly, shaking his head. “We’ve already used this one long enough. Mathis could already know where we are by now. I think it’s safer to start fresh.”

Unless she can free herself from the handcuffs and run for help, the burner phone is her only chance of escaping tonight.

Which means he’s going to destroy her only chance.

“We should get going. Felicity needs to rest,” Stanley mumbles. “Oliver, we’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“Wait–” Oliver’s voice gets cut off as Stanley abruptly hangs up the phone. 

Then, moving faster than she’s seen him move, her kidnapper stands up from the bed and throws the phone across the room. It crashes against the wall, making Felicity flinch in surprise at the sudden noise. And then it breaks into dozens of pieces, cheap shards of plastic bursting and falling to the floor.

And that was that.

The reality finally sets in.

There’s still a few hours until sunrise. And there’s nothing to do but wait.

She’ll be spending the night with a serial killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! It's been a while!! I'm so excited about wrapping this story up and finishing the plans that I've had for over a year now. My plan is to update October 31st, which will be the last chapter, and then post the epilogue on November 7th. I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> Did you see that coming!? Do you love Stanley as much as I love Stanley!? On a scale of 1 to 10 how much insanity are you expecting in the final chapter!?
> 
> Tumblr: smoaking-greenarrow  
Twitter: olicitysbett


	8. Chapter 8

Felicity didn’t get any sleep. At all. Instead, she waited.

After Stanley destroyed the phone, Felicity told him that she was tired. He made a bed for himself on the floor with a spare blanket and a pillow. He turned the lights off. And then she waited.

For an hour, Felicity laid still, staring at the clock and listening to Stanley’s breathing. Her eyes grew tired, but her anxiety was far too high to let her sleep. Once she heard his breaths begin to even out, indicating that he’d fallen asleep, Felicity still stayed quiet for another hour. She wanted to make sure she wouldn’t get caught.

And then she carefully sits up and leans over the edge of the bed.

She has to get that freaking screw. Now.

Stanley taking the floor, although she was glad he didn’t even try to split the bed with her because _ yikes _, meant that he would easily be able to see the screw from where he laid on the floor. Thankfully, it’s too dark for him to notice at the moment. But come morning, it would be a huge risk.

Her best shot is to grab it and keep it handy if she needed it. She knows she’ll be able to get the handcuffs off if she has enough time to pick the lock, and the screw is the only option she had.

Once she finally retrieves it, Felicity carefully tucks it into the pillowcase beneath her head, letting out a long breath of relief, somehow feeling safer to have _ something. _

And for another two hours, she fights against her body’s desire to sleep, not wanting to rest until she’s far away from any danger.

Eventually, the sun starts to rise, light filters in through the curtains, and Stanley wakes up. They keep their conversation minimal; her lying and saying that she got some sleep, and him telling her that he’ll go to the store to get another phone. 

She nods once in acknowledgement, a sick feeling in her stomach thanks to her nerves and a lack of sleep. Then Stanley walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. And as soon as Felicity hears the shower turn on, she dives her hand into the pillowcase to get the screw.

It’d still be too much of a risk to make a break for it now, but she wants to at least try figuring out how she’ll get out of the handcuffs while she has a moment alone, hoping that the sound of the shower will muffle her attempts.

To Felicity’s surprise, she manages to find the right angle, certain that she’ll be able to snap the lock, and that when the time comes, she’ll be able to do it rather quickly.

_ Unfortunately, that time isn’t now. _

The shower turns off. Felicity shoves the screw back into her pillowcase and leans against it. She catches her breath, trying to calm down and act normal so that Stanley doesn’t get suspicious. And then he comes out.

He’s dressed in the same clothes as the day before. His hair is still wet. But after a few hours of sleep and the shower, he looks to be in better shape than he’d been the night before. Calmer. _ So at least there’s that. _

“I’ll head out to get the phone now. I can pick up something for breakfast on the way back. Um...is there anything you need?”

Felicity plasters on a smile, hoping that she doesn’t look too flustered as she answers, “coffee, please.”

* * *

The calming, satisfying feeling of rubbing his eyes for a couple of minutes is the only rest Oliver allows himself.

In the hours after the phone call with Felicity and Stanley, the team works tirelessly on the case. Now that they know she’s been taken by a _ different _serial killer, they’ve pulled the officers out of the Holland Forest. Thankfully not wasting their efforts out there. Instead, most of the police precincts are focused on finding Barton Mathis. While Oliver and the Bureau work on finding Stanley Dover.

Still, the team is monitoring the calls that come to the local police stations; people who thought they’d seen a man fitting Mathis’s description, suspicious behavior and noises around the time of the explosion. And after Diggle’s broadcast about Felicity’s ‘death,’ there were a hell of a lot of calls to sort through. Most of them are nonsense, but no one is willing to risk missing the one that could mean something.

_ They know Oliver would probably kill them. Or at least, never forgive them. _

Part of him is afraid that Mathis will run if he believes that Felicity is dead. He’d have no reason to stay in Starling. But the bigger part of his gut is certain that for a man like Mathis, it won’t be over until he has undoubted proof.

A knock at his door makes Oliver pull his hands away from his face, dark spots swimming in his line of sight as he looks up at Sara where she stands in his doorway. “Hey,” she smiles gently, her expression tired and pale.

“Hi,” Oliver sighs back. “Any leads?”

“Maybe,” she bites her lip, staying in the doorway. “The 54th has been monitoring surrounding towns. They looked into some reports from last night about a man in a superstore. Witnesses said he seemed high strung and in a rush, acting noticeably on edge, some assumed he was on drugs.”

Oliver nods slowly, trying to be patient. But if there was anything he knew about Barton Mathis’s demeanor, it was that the man hardly ever lost his cool. He was always calm and collected. He can’t imagine that anyone would ever see him in a store late at night, and confuse him for a drug user.

“So…?” Oliver prompts Sara, raising his eyebrows as he waits for her to connect the dots.

“When the 54th asked for the footage, they noticed that the suspect avoided surveillance cameras and kept a hood over his head the whole time he was in the store. Which...someone high on drugs would never think to do.”

“You think that Mathis saw the news about Felicity’s death and now he’s suffering some kind of psychotic break?”

Sara quickly shook her head, “no, no. I’m not talking about Mathis. I’m talking about Stanley Dover.”

Oliver instantly perked up, readjusting his view of the situation. Stanley fit the bill much better than Mathis. If he had Felicity in the car while he went inside, or if he knew he had to get back to her, wherever he was keeping her, he’d be nervous. And he’d certainly be paranoid with Mathis still at large.

“Where was this?” he asks.

“Blüdhaven,” Sara answers, stepping into the room and holding out a picture for him to see. It was blown up, depicting a man walking down a grocery store aisle. He had a black sweatshirt on with the hood pulled up to conceal his face, but Oliver could see, easily, that the man could very well be Stanley.

His eyes move back to his agent, darker now. The picture gave him hope, but with the danger still present, it was tainted. And the feeling that brewed in his chest wasn’t a comfortable one. “What did he buy?”

Sara raises an eyebrow, “two sandwiches, some personal hygiene products, and women’s clothes. Leggings and a sweatshirt.”

Oliver stands up from his desk, instantly getting his coat. 

Blüdhaven is only an hour away. 

It could be a fool’s errand, a coincidence. But something tells Oliver that it isn’t. 

“Text me the store’s address,” is all he says on his way out, catching Sara’s nod in response before he’s out of the room. At the very least, he can get some statements from the employees and check out the area around the store.

He calls John as he heads to the parking garage, letting him know where he’s going and telling him to have Sara fill him in on the details. And then Oliver is on his way to Blüdhaven.

Overall, he’s grateful for the drive, not realizing how badly he needed to get out of his office and clear his head with some fresh air. But of course, he’s even more grateful for this lead. Even though it practically fell into their laps, even though it seems too good to be true, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s getting closer to Felicity as the minutes tick past. 

Oliver makes it about halfway to Blüdhaven before his phone starts ringing. Seeing a number he doesn’t recognize, he answers it right away. “Hello?”

There’s a long pause on the other end. He frowns, checking that he hadn’t lost connection. “Felicity?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” her voice finally croaks back, her low tone nervous and strained. But he doesn’t hear any of that at first. There’s only relief. She’s okay. And that’s about all that Oliver can process.

Until she speaks again. “Oliver...I think I made a huge mistake.”

* * *

The moment that the door slams shut behind Stanley, Felicity reaches for the screw again. With her heart in her stomach and her breath caught in her throat, she jams it into the mechanism on the handcuffs, her hands shaking as she fights to get the right angle.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she pleads with the stupid things. 

Suddenly, seeming more out of luck than skill, she hears the screw click into place, and then the tension on her wrist releases and the cuffs come undone. 

“Oh my god,” she breathes, tears of relief swarming in her eyes. “Yes. Frack. Okay.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Felicity scrambles off the bed, half afraid that the door will swing open and Stanley will catch her. She hurries to the window, carefully pulling the curtain back to sneak a peek outside. Her eyes roam over the street, seeing that it’s surprisingly crowded. The parking lot is empty, and there’s no sign of Stanley. Across the four lane highway, there’s another motel. A few yards down from that, there’s a steakhouse and some kind of outlet mall, and even further in the distance, she can see the sign for a diner. 

The idea forms in her mind quickly, and she doesn’t have much of a choice but to go with it. Felicity knows that if she’s going to make a move, it has to be now. She might not get another chance. She doesn’t have time to waste. And she would really prefer not to spend another night in this motel with a serial killer.

Shoving the handcuffs in her pocket, she decides to take them with her. Then she turns to the rest of the room, observing it for a short breath, and then she unleashes all of her frustration on it. 

Felicity pushes the mattress off the bed, making a mess of the blankets, pillows, and sheets. She knocks down the desk and chair, flips the small table on its side, and then rips the curtains straight from the rod and throws them across the room.

Her breath is heavy as she takes a look at her work.

_ It looks like a hurricane blew through the room. _

Satisfied, Felicity pulls the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, leaving the door open just a crack as she heads outside. She jogs down the steps, her head on a swivel as she keeps an eye out for Stanley. She has no idea if he left on foot, or if he took a car or what that car looks like if he did. All she knows is that he’s going to come back to a trashed motel room. And if she’s lucky, it’ll make him think that Mathis came for her...which will hopefully stop him from searching for her himself.

She walks on the side of the road with her head down, hiding her face from the cars that pass and from the rain that’s spitting from the sky. The ground is already wet from the heavy rain of the night before, but Felicity welcomes the cool drops that land on her cheeks.

Keeping her strides quick but not suspicious, she heads straight for the diner. It’s still visible from the motel, but she doesn’t want to stay out long enough for Stanley to spot her on his way back to the room. Plus, the windows of the diner look like they’ll offer a nice vantage point of both sides of the street.

When she finally walks through the doors of the diner, Felicity lets out a breath of relief. The place is empty aside from the two women at the counter, quiet aside from the music that plays overhead. It’s simple; decorated like a 50's diner with a black and white checkered floor and cheap leather booths that are firetruck red. Which might have been a cute theme, except the place looks like it’s been open since the 50’s and they just haven’t bothered to change a thing.

One of the women is on her cell phone, not bothering to look up as the bell chimes with Felicity’s entrance. But the other woman glances up, greeting her with a smile. Felicity nods, putting a friendly smile on her own face as she lowers her hood and approaches the counter. 

“Hi,” Felicity says quietly, “I locked myself out of my room at the motel down the street. I was hoping I could borrow a phone to call my boyfriend.”

The friendlier of the two opens her mouth to respond, but the other woman quickly cuts her off, “payphone is in the back, by the bathroom.” She doesn’t glance up from her own cell phone, waving her hand towards the hallway behind them. 

“Um,” Felicity bites her lip. “My wallet is locked in the room, too. Do you have any change? Or could I borrow a phone from one of you?”

Again, the nicer of the two tries to answer, but Felicity doesn’t catch her words because the other waitress pushes the tip jar towards Felicity, the coins rattling loudly. “Here,” she huffs, looking at her long enough to roll her eyes, and then her focus goes right back to her Instagram scrolling.

Felicity raises her eyebrows, wondering how the young girl was capable of so much sass. “Thanks,” she mumbles, reaching her hand into the jar and grabbing a couple of quarters. Then she hurries to the back of the diner, not sparing a glance at the girls again.

She doesn’t notice how hard her hands are shaking until she tries to put the quarters in the slot to call him. When she thinks about telling Oliver what she just did, which could either be a decision that saves her life or one that comes back to bite her.

Stanley told her that they’re in Blüdhaven, but what if he was lying? What if she was much, much farther from home than that? And even if she _ is _in Blüdhaven, it would take Oliver an hour to get here.

How long until Stanley comes looking for her? Or worse...what if someone _ else _finds her here first? Should she call the police? Would that cause too much attention? Could she trust them? What about Warden Knox’s connections? Was he working with Mathis?

She’s caught in the crossfire between two serial killers, and now she could be risking the lives of the two waitresses. 

It’s possible that Stanley Dover finds her in five minutes, since that’s how long it took her to walk there from the motel. 

It’s possible that Barton Mathis followed them here and he already knows exactly where she is, just like he did once before.

Those things are possible, yes, and they will absolutely become a problem if she just sits around and waits for one of them to happen.

Felicity forces her hands to stop shaking. Then she shoves the quarters into the slot, turns her brain off, and dials Oliver’s number. 

“Hello?” he answers on the third ring.

She gapes, trying to find her voice through the panic that’s filling her chest. 

“Felicity?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out. “It’s me.” Her head feels light, her lungs feel tight. It’s like air isn’t filling her lungs as smoothly as it should. Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, recognizing, after many encounters, that she’s on the verge of a panic attack. “Oliver...I think I made a huge mistake.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and his voice is lower when he does. “Where are you?”

“Blüdhaven, I think. But honestly I’m not sure. Stanley could have been lying?”

“He’s not with you?”

“No,” she lets out a long breath, focusing on his voice, on answering his questions. “I got away.”

“You...I’m almost there. Where are you, exactly?”

“A place called David’s Diner. I didn’t see what the motel was called, I didn’t even look back. It’s down the street from this diner. Oliver...I don’t think I thought this through enough. There’s too many variables. I can’t even be sure of where I am. What should I do?”

“We got a lead on Stanley in Blüdhaven, Felicity. He was telling you the truth. I’m on my way there now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you hang tight until then? I can send a squad car.”

Her breath catches in her throat; shock, and hope, filling her chest. “Twenty minutes?” She gasps.

“I was already on my way, baby,” Oliver replies gently. “I’ll call the local station and have an officer meet you at the diner until I get there.”

She shakes her head, “no, Oliver. There’s staff here. I think it’s safer if I wait for you. Calling this in might tip Mathis or Stanley off. I can wait. It’s just twenty minutes, right?”

Oliver huffs, and Felicity hears it when he accelerates. “Make it fifteen.”

When the time on the call runs out, Felicity considers going to ask the girls for more quarters so she can call Oliver back and keep him on the phone until he arrives, and to ask them why they don’t _ at least _invest in a payphone with unlimited minutes. But instead she thinks better of it, her eyes on a booth by the window where she’ll be able to watch the street.

So, she sits in front of the window and stares.

After a couple minutes pass, which Felicity literally finds herself counting, a cup of hot coffee appears on the table in front of her. She glances up at the waitress, the nicer one of course, and shakes her head. “Oh, no, I don’t have any money, remember?”

The woman shrugs her shoulders, placing a bowl with individual creamers down beside the steaming mug. “On the house,” she answers with a smile.

Felicity returns it, genuinely grateful. Knowing that there’s still some good in the world, just a small gesture of kindness, is exactly what she needs to hold herself together for the next...eleven-ish minutes. And caffeine. Obviously that helps, too. “Thank you,” she tells the girl, her hands reaching for the comfortable, familiar feeling of wrapping her cold fingers around a warm cup of coffee.

Surprisingly, those eleven-ish minutes pass quickly. She thought that waiting for Oliver to get there would feel like an eternity, but the time passed rather smoothly. Taking small sips of her coffee, Felicity keeps her eyes trained on the windows, watching the rain as it starts to pick up, droplets bouncing off the pavement.

Almost out of survival, as if she has no other choice, Felicity turns her brain off. She doesn’t let herself think about anything besides the rain and the coffee, because if her thoughts go anywhere else, she knows she’ll break down.

After a while, Felicity’s not exactly sure how long since she refused to look at the clock, a car pulls into the parking lot. The headlights shine through the windows as it turns in from the street, pulling into the spot closest to the door.

The headlights turn off.

Felicity stares at the man behind the wheel, her lip instinctively beginning to tremble as they make eye contact. Then she stands up, her legs a little shaky as she starts to walk, too focused on getting outside to pay the girls at the counter any mind. 

By the time she pushes through the front door, Oliver is out of his car, rounding the front of it to meet her halfway.

Instantly, he takes her into his arms. “Hey,” he mumbles, his lips close to her ear, his chest pressed tight against hers, his arms even tighter. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. I’m right here. I’m right here,” Oliver continues to soothe, and Felicity realizes that she’s shaking like a leaf.

She sucks in a sharp breath, pulling away from him as her eyes scan over their surroundings. “We need to get out of here.”

Without another word, Oliver turns to open the passenger side door, helping her in before he shuts it behind her.

Even as Oliver gets behind the wheel, Felicity is still on edge.

As they pull out of the parking lot and head down the street, passing by the motel, Felicity looks up, her attention zeroing in on the door of the room she’d just escaped. Outside, she can see Stanley on the balcony. The door is open and he’s pacing in front of it, talking to himself in some kind of manic state. Silently, she points him out to Oliver. “That’s where he had me...I walked to that diner when he went out to get the new burner phone.”

The car slows down, and Oliver’s hands tighten on the wheel, his knuckles turning white with the force. Felicity expects him to stop, to arrest Stanley himself, but he drives on, pulling out his phone and making a quick call to the local police, letting them know they’ll need to take the killer into custody as soon as possible. Then Felicity listens as he calls John next, directing him to send Sara and Roy to pick Stanley up at the Blüdhaven county jail. 

When he’s done, he puts his phone down, his jaw locked and his hands still gripping the wheel as the motel gets farther and farther away.

She still doesn’t feel safe.

Somehow, Oliver must be able to sense it. He drives in silence, letting her be, just a warm hand resting on her thigh to remind her that he’s there when she’s ready.

And they’re halfway back to Starling before she speaks. “This feels like a dream. I know it’s not over...but it doesn’t seem real that I’m here right now. That I got away from Stanley. That you were already on your way to Blüdhaven when I called.” She can feel Oliver’s eyes analyzing her, shifting between her and the road as she speaks, but she keeps her gaze on her lap, her finger tracing patterns over the back of his hand. “I can’t shake the feeling that it’s too good to be true.”

“Sometimes we catch breaks,” he answers gently. “Sometimes hard work leads to a little bit of luck. That’s how I found you. And sometimes psychotic idiots think they can mess with badass women,” his eyes flicker down to her again, and Felicity can read the questions behind them. And the deep, magnetic affection that makes her heart feel a little bit lighter. Even now. “I’m so proud of you, Felicity.”

Despite everything, she melts at the words. Words that bring the good kind of butterflies to her stomach with the way he’s looking at her. The love she feels for him trumps pretty much everything, even two serial killers out to get her. 

And that’s the moment that she begins to feel safe again. Truly safe.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asks.

“Yes,” she sighs, her fingers tightening on his.

“You’re not hurt?” 

Felicity shakes her head. “No, he didn’t touch me. I’m okay.” 

There’s so much more he wants to say. To ask. But she can tell that he’s trying not to overwhelm her. Oliver pinches his lips together, and then he settles for, “I love you so much, Felicity. More than anything.” 

She nods, lifting her tired arm so she can touch his cheek. Oliver melts into her touch, nestling his cheek into her palm. “You look like you had a rough night,” she comments.

“I did. Kind of went a little crazy without you.” 

“Well...I hope you know that I plan to stay by your side for the foreseeable future.” 

Oliver’s lips twitch, not quite forming a smile. “That sounds perfect to me. I hope you know that I plan to kiss you senseless for the foreseeable future.” 

He pulls her hand back from his face, just to kiss her fingers. And Felicity whispers,“that sounds perfect to me.” 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“Exhausted. But yes, I’m okay. I promise.” 

“Did Stanley say anything? About Mathis?” 

“Just that he escaped and was coming after me. Stanley says he followed him to protect me, as a favor to you because you saved him during the riot at Slabside.” 

Oliver sighs, “that creepy little scumbag actually might have helped us, you know.” 

_ Oh, she knows. _ She’s already considered the alternative. The Dollmaker. He would have gotten to her before they even knew he was coming. All thanks to that useless prison warden who didn’t warn them. And thanks to Stanley, they avoided that.

All in all, it could have been worse.

All in all, that doesn’t make it feel any better at the moment.

But that’s okay. _ She’s _okay. 

“I know,” Felicity whispers.

Sparing her another glance, Oliver sighs. “We’ll get Mathis too, Felicity. I promise.”

* * *

Curtis was nice enough to turn his and Felicity’s shared workspace into a little recuperation room for Felicity when they got back. Meaning, he found a cot somewhere and set it up in the corner of the room and then made himself scarce to do his work elsewhere. Which, at the moment, consisted of tracking down Barton Mathis.

As soon as they were safely back at headquarters, Oliver insisted that Felicity rest. And she’d quickly given him a counter argument that once _ they _ checked in with the team and got updates, _ they _could rest. One look at her and he knew that it was the best offer he’d get from her.

Surprisingly, the cot was pretty comfortable.

Oliver had to lay on his back and Felicity had to lay on top of him in order for them both to fit on it, but he didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to hold her as close and as tight as he wanted.

Lying there in the dark room with just the sounds of Felicity’s breathing, it was unexpectedly easy to relax. Oliver put his thoughts about Mathis to the back of his mind, locked them away and focused on the woman he loved. The woman who was safe and sound, sleeping in his arms.

When Dover had her, he was terrified that he would lose her.

And when he’d seen her car on fire, he was terrified that he already did.

He had to let himself savor her. He _ needed _it. And she needed him. 

Tracing his fingers through her hair, he eventually lulled Felicity to sleep. He kissed her forehead again and again, reminding himself that nothing bad would happen to her now. And he simply stared at her while she dreamed, in awe of a woman who had literally gone up against two serial killers. Faced them head on and battled her way out. And both times, he’d been there, like a safety net, protecting her and leading her away from danger. 

But Felicity was the one who had saved herself.

It didn’t take Oliver very long to fall asleep too, succumbing to the peace she brought him.

Unfortunately though, that peace was short lived.

Oliver isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep when Curtis eventually rouses him, but he knows he is _ not _ready to get up.

“We have something,” Curtis whispers, trying not to wake Felicity. “We had an officer sitting outside your place, just in case the Dollmaker decided to show up.”

The words make him perk up, his body tensing before he remembers that Felicity is still asleep on his chest, and he forces himself to relax. “They got him?”

Curtis winces, “um, no. He killed the officer.”

“What?”

“And he took the police radio from the squad car, so he’s had access to our communications with the precincts,” Curtis’s eyes shift down to Felicity, his expression softening. “So _ I _ assume that _ we _ have to assume that Mathis _ knows _Felicity is still alive.”

“Shit,” Oliver grits out, his arms instinctively tightening around Felicity. She starts to stir, squirming a bit, and he loosens his hold. “How did he die?”

“Someone broke the windshield. There were signs of a struggle. Stab wounds to his neck and chest...it was _ not _pretty. But they don’t know much else yet.”

“When did this happen?”

“About an hour ago. He didn’t check in with his commanding officer at the scheduled time and his partner went over to make sure he was okay. She’s the one who found him in his car. They’re bringing the body back now.”

“I’ll go talk to the coroner,” Oliver replies, his muscles flexing as he moves to untangle himself from Felicity, and then stops as he realizes there’s no way he can get up without waking her. 

Curtis straightens up, looking even more nervous as he rocks back on his heels. “There’s something else. Sara and Roy are almost back with Stanley Dover. He says he wants to talk to you.”

“Stanley can wait.”

“Oliver, I don’t think that’s the best—”

“I said, Stanley can wait,” he snaps back.

Curtis pinches his lips together, and then apparently finds the courage to argue. “With all due respect...you’re wrong, Director Queen. We don’t even know if Dover will be coherent in an hour. His mental state is spiraling. He’s off his meds and he’s afraid. Carter Blackthorne recommends that we talk to him as soon as possible if we want any chance of getting useful information out of him. And since he’s still the last person we know of that saw Mathis, aside from the dead police officer, of course, I think you need to talk to him!”

With a huff, Oliver bites his tongue to keep from lashing out. He doesn’t like being told that he’s wrong, even when he knows that he probably is. And he definitely doesn’t like being told what to do, although Felicity and Ophie tend to run things at home, this Bureau is his. His team. His call.

But Curtis brings up some very valid points. Oliver is just a bit too stubborn to admit that.

It’s Felicity who eventually answers. 

“Go talk to Stanley,” she mumbles, letting them know that she’s awake and has probably heard most of their conversation. Then she gently pats Oliver’s chest and sits up. “I’ll go get the report from the coroner’s office and bring it up. You can look it over once you’re done with Stanley and then go talk to him yourself. Okay?”

She’s answered with simultaneous protests from the boys. “You hate the morgue,” Curtis points out at the same time that Oliver tells her, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Felicity holds up a hand, pinning each of them with a glare. “I’m a big girl and I can walk down some stairs and get a file without having a breakdown.”

Her boyfriend levels her with a glare of his own, “you know that’s not what we mean.”

“I can handle it,” she rolls her eyes. “And god knows it wouldn’t hurt to stretch my legs a little.”

Oliver sighs, knowing they don’t have time to fight about it and he’ll end up losing anyway. “Fine,” he gives in, pressing a kiss against her forehead before standing up. “But take Curtis with you.”

* * *

The morgue is always creepy. Located in the basement of headquarters, there’s no sunlight and the fluorescent bulbs in the long hallway have always just given it an eerie vibe. Plus, Felicity knows there’s something a bit more metaphorical to the anxiety that the morgue tends to cause her. 

She’s literally underground. With dead bodies. And after some therapy and deep diving into her fears, it became pretty obvious why that freaked her out so much.

Still, ever since she started working with the FBI, the morgue has been like a challenge for her. It’s not exactly an unavoidable place with the job she has, after all. There are parts of her work, albeit not _ enjoyable _parts, that require a trip down here. It kind of became her whale. The thing she needed to overcome in order to feel okay again. Although it hasn’t happened yet, she also recognizes that conquering the morgue isn’t going to erase all of her trauma. Every other agent came and left the place with ease, but some days, Felicity had struggled to get through the door. Her chest would tighten and her breath would grow shallow as soon as she found herself in the sunless, narrow hallway that held an air, and a slight odor, of death.

She isn’t sure that will ever be normal for her.

Since her last visit had included a panic attack, Felicity’s not exactly thrilled to be there, anyway.

Curtis is silent as the elevator doors open. Felicity instantly wraps her arms around herself, noticing the chill in the air, which is necessary for the examiners to take care of the bodies, but doesn’t make the place feel any less creepy. 

They make their way over to the clerk’s desk, frowning when they see the young girl who usually mans the sign-in sheet isn’t there.

“Hello?” Felicity asks gently, leaning over the counter to try to see into the backroom where they keep all their records. She looks back at Curtis and shrugs, “maybe she’s on a break?”

Nodding, Curtis waves his badge in front of the sensor to unlock the door. “I’ll sign us in,” he tells her, looking around the receptionist’s desk for the binder and a pen.

“Okay,” Felicity sighs, shuffling her feet as she moves down the hallway to the coroner’s office. 

It’s more like a workspace, really. With a lonesome, uncomfortable-looking, plastic chair in the hallway across from the door. Like a welcoming gesture for the agents who have to sit outside and wait for the results of a case. 

How exactly did the victim die? When? What did they leave behind? Were there any clues that could answer all of their lingering questions? 

That chair is never a good place for an agent to be.

_ Depressing. _

Felicity reaches the door, sneaking up to the window to give herself a pre-warning glance at what they’re about to walk into. She’s just about to peek inside when she hears a loud crash from down the hall, back at the front desk. Felicity gasps, her head snapping towards the sound.

“Curtis?”

_ Silence. _

“Curtis?”

_ Nothing. _

She starts to walk back towards the clerk’s office, making it halfway down the hall again when the door suddenly swings open, startling her yet again.

And the sight she sees stops her in her tracks.

Barton Mathis appears from the door, his chest heaving with the effort it’s taking him to drag Curtis out into the hallway.

_ Frack. _

There’s nowhere to hide.

Nowhere to run.

A string of silent, terrified curses pass through her mind, and then she quickly stumbles backwards, heading for the medical examiner’s office since it’s the only place to go. Her heart pounds in her chest, her eyes stay locked on Barton Mathis as she retreats. And when she finally gets back to the door and pushes inside, closing it as quietly as she possibly can, Felicity has no idea if he saw her or not.

She has no idea what to do.

She has no idea if Curtis is dead.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she presses her shaking palms against her forehead, trying to gain control of her thoughts and come up with a plan. When she turns around to take in the rest of the room, she jumps at the sight of a body laid out on the table, a white sheet covering the man from the waist down. The officer that Oliver and Curtis had been whispering about. The one that Mathis killed. The body bag was still open on the table beside the body, the coroner’s tools out and prepped for an autopsy. 

Is that how Mathis got in? With the body? She isn't sure how else he could have. The whole building had been on lockdown since she and Oliver got back. The van transport for the body was the only thing that could’ve made it past the gate. But where is the medical examiner?

As Felicity rounds the table, she gets her answer.

The coroner sits slumped against it, blood dripping down his forehead. After the initial shock, yet another surprise that makes her heart stop beating for a brief moment, she drops to her knees and immediately checks his pulse.

“Okay,” Felicity whispers to herself, relieved when she finds one. He’s unconscious, but not dead. Which means that the Dollmaker might not be out to rack up a body count tonight. Which means that he could have just knocked Curtis out, too.

Regardless, she has to get out of there.

Preferably with her friend. Preferably with both of them alive.

But how?

Way past the point of caring about modesty, Felicity quickly starts to search the coroner, shoving her hands into his pockets to see if she can find his phone. As she comes up empty, Felicity groans, “seriously?”

She stands up and creeps back over to the door, sneaking a peek into the hallway. Just in time to see the Dollmaker coming her way. Beyond him, she can see Curtis slumped against the wall, just like he’d left the coroner.

She yelps, her heart sinking into her stomach as she turns around. There are plenty of tools that she could use as a weapon, which is looking like her only option. The idea of fighting him is terrifying though, considering the fact that the _ thought _of this man has given her paralyzing nightmares for the last two years.

Out of options, Felicity grabs a knife.

Out of time, she looks around for a place to hide.

That’s when she notices that there are ten hiding places to hide, right there in front of her.

The wall of built-in chambers where the corpses are kept.

Feeling like she’s going to be sick, Felicity rushes across the room, opening one of the doors that she can reach. Thankfully, she finds the metal tray empty, and she quickly hoists herself up and crawls inside.

She shuts the door behind her.

And then she’s left with nothing but silence.

It’s dark, cold, and lonely.

Much like a coffin she’d once spent too much time in, buried beneath the ground in the middle of the Holland Forest.

Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, gripping the knife in her hand to remind herself that this time, she isn’t lost. 

She isn’t alone. 

And she isn’t helpless. 

She’s in the basement of the FBI and someone would come looking for her and Curtis sooner rather than later. Their errand should’ve only taken a few minutes. They’d already been gone too long.

Not only does she have a weapon this time, but she has training. She knows more about Barton Mathis now, too. She knows who he is and what he wants and how he thinks. She’d had two years for all of that, and it had to count for something.

She hears it when the door slowly creaks open.

She hears his footsteps crossing the room.

Felicity covers her mouth with her own hand, holding her breath as she hears the Dollmaker coming closer.

* * *

Oliver walks into Stanley Dover’s interrogation room with a knot in his stomach. It feels wrong to be away from Felicity so soon after he’d gotten her back, even if it’s just for a few minutes. 

Which is the main reason he’d been hesitant to leave her side. But one look at Dover, and he knows that Curtis’s assessment had been right. The man is rocking back and forth in his chair, his leg bouncing as he twists his hands together.

Raising an eyebrow, Oliver approaches, keeping his movements slow and deliberate so he doesn’t rattle Stanley. He calmly pulls out the chair across from the serial killer and sits down. Now that he’s closer, he can see that Stanley is talking to himself, the words silent but his lips moving. 

Oliver pauses, observing him for a moment, while Stanley barely seems to notice that he’s there. He clears his throat, “Mr. Dover.”

Suddenly, Stanley’s eyes fly up to him, his face twisted with fear and panic. “It’s all...about _ her, _ Oliver. He’s not gonna stop until he has her, he’s not gonna stop.”

He pinches his lips together. “She’s safe. I don’t need you to worry about Felicity right now, Stanley. I need you to tell me about Barton Mathis and what happened last night, when you left the prison.”

It takes a lot of patience to keep a lid on his temper. There’s a part of him that wants to jump across the table and kill the man who took Felicity away, who scared her and could have gotten her hurt. And he has to remind himself of the truth that he’s already agonized over. Stanley Dover very well might have saved Felicity’s life. Not to mention, it’s incredibly obvious that the man in front of him is not in his right mind.

“You don’t get it,” Stanley groans, exasperated. “He _ just _wants her. Only her! He’ll die trying, Oliver.”

“You’re sick, Stanley. And we’re going to get you the help that you need. But you’re not telling me anything that I don’t already know, and I don’t have time for this. So if you’ll excuse me—”

The killer meets his eyes evenly, his body stilling. “No, you’re not listening. He doesn’t care about you, or me, or getting caught. He doesn’t care about dolls. He cares about _ her. _”

_ He doesn’t care about dolls. _

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Oliver realizes what Stanley is trying to say. 

They’d profiled Mathis as a thoughtful, strategic, calculated serial killer. The kind of monster who doesn’t make a move unless he’s confident that he won’t fail. The kind of mastermind who always has a plan and a trick up his sleeve. Because he did. He always had a final goal in mind. _ Felicity. _ But he wouldn’t take a shot at Felicity unless he could guarantee that he wouldn’t miss.

Or, so Oliver thought.

_ He doesn’t care about dolls. _

He doesn’t care about making her into one. Because at some point in the last two years, at some point during all that time he had to think in prison, his motivations had changed.

That’s what Stanley is trying to tell him.

He doesn’t care about turning Felicity into his perfect, final doll like he’d planned for years. He just wants her. Her life in _ his _hands.

Unable to speak, Oliver nods once, standing up from his chair and leaving the room. He turns right for the observation room next door where John, Sara, and Roy are all waiting. They each look up at him as he comes in.

Roy crosses his arms, “what the hell is Dover talking about?”

“Yeah,” Sara frowns. “The whole way back here from Blüdhaven, he just kept saying that. ‘The Dollmaker doesn’t care about dolls.’ But...you look like you’re about to be sick, so I’m assuming it means something to you.”

“Digg,” Oliver ignores them, staring at his friend. “Get Felicity on the phone for me.”

* * *

“Hello there, darling…”

Felicity bites the inside of her cheek to keep from making any noise as the Dollmaker’s footsteps stop. She can feel him close by, hovering just on the other side of the chamber she’s in. Like a sixth sense that’s undeniably, horribly, tuned in to him. 

“I know you’re in here,” Mathis continues, his footsteps retreating now. She hears him opening the cupboards across the room, the door of the closet where the coroner keeps his equipment. _ Looking for her. _ “I told you that this isn’t over. I told you that you’re mine. So why don’t you come on out so we can finish this once and for all?” A long silence answers him, while Felicity’s body aches with the pressure of simply _ not moving. _ It’s surprisingly exhausting, and difficult, not to move a muscle or make a sound in that moment. “Come on, darling,” he pleads with her. “I promise, it’ll be over before you know it.” His words are followed by a familiar, haunting whistle that has tormented her dreams for years. A sound that chased her through the Holland forest on that day, and has chased her through her nightmares ever since. It rings loud and clear in the room, bouncing through the eerie silence of the morgue.

Tears start to sting in her eyes as soon as she hears it.

“Do you know how much it hurt me?” Mathis asks, his voice lower than before. “When I thought that your perfect skin, my perfect canvas, had been destroyed? Gone forever in that fire because of that spineless little coward. He would have ruined you. I may not have the time for my vision of you, darling. But I can promise you that I will never let you become ash and bone.”

Felicity forces herself to breathe, to stay calm. Knowing that it’s only a matter of time, she slowly pulls her hand away from her face, gripping the knife in both hands instead.

She didn’t hear him approaching this time, and Felicity’s breath catches in her throat when everything suddenly starts to shake. A loud, metallic noise clatters around her, coming from all sides as the chamber above her slides by her face.

_ He’s opening them. _

* * *

“Felicity and Curtis haven’t come back yet,” Diggle informs him as he walks down the hall towards Oliver. 

Nodding once, Oliver pushes the button for the elevator again. If it wasn’t twenty flights to get to the basement and multiple doors with various access panels that would slow him down, he’d just take the stairs. The elevator is right by the morgue and there’s only one access pad. Oliver presses his fingers against the down button again, quickly growing antsy. “The receptionist at the coroner’s office isn’t picking up the phone, either.”

Finally, the doors open. Oliver steps inside and is already pushing the button to close the doors again as John slips into the elevator behind him.

It’s the longest trip down to the morgue he’s ever endured. 

John stays quiet, but Oliver catches him checking his gun out of the corner of his eye. The bell eventually rings, noting their arrival, and the doors silently slide open. 

Oliver steps out, his eyes instantly landing on Curtis Holt where the man lays on the floor in the hallway. All of his fears become reality. And somehow, Oliver manages to bottle up his emotions and put his FBI agent head on straight. Because something is very wrong. 

Moving without a sound, Diggle rushes over to their unconscious agent, checking his pulse and letting Oliver know with a single nod that he’s alive.

“Stay with him and call for backup,” Oliver instructs him in a whisper, his eyes already focused on the coroner’s office.

Felicity either ran away or she’s still down here.

And he’s not about to contemplate which one it is. He hurries down the hall, moving as quietly and carefully as he can, until he reaches the door. With his back pressed against the wall, he peers inside. 

The first thing that Oliver notices is the medical examiner, slumped against the table below the police officer’s body in the same position they’d found Curtis. Just as Oliver leans in closer to see the rest of the room, Mathis passes by the window, making Oliver snap backwards, pressing himself against the wall again as he tries to stay out of sight. 

He looks back into the room as the Dollmaker approaches the morgue where the corpses are kept. Without warning, he swings one of the doors open on the top shelf and yanks out the corpse tray. Then he moves to the next one, and the next one. 

Using all the noise that Mathis is making as a cover, Oliver slips into the room behind him and draws his gun. “Put your hands up,” he growls. 

Even in that moment, he can recognize the small, dark piece of him that hopes Barton Mathis will ignore him. His finger is on the trigger, just waiting for a reason to shoot.

Unfortunately, the serial killer freezes. Then his hands slowly rise, as if in surrender, but Oliver knows better. He won’t stop. He won’t roll over. He would rather die than go back to prison, knowing that the object of his affection would still be out there. Knowing that Felicity would be safe again. And all the while, he wouldn’t be able to get to her.

“Walk towards me slowly with your hands where I can see them.”

Mathis snarls his lip, but does as he’s told. At least, until he makes it halfway across the room. And then he seems to abandon his slow approach, and all sense of reason. Once the Dollmaker thinks he’s close enough, he charges at Oliver.

And Oliver doesn’t hesitate before releasing two rounds into the man’s chest.

His eyes widen in surprise, as if he hadn’t been expecting Oliver to shoot. As if he’d underestimated him. Maybe because Oliver had spared his life once before, during their fight in the Holland forest, Mathis thought that he would take that risk again.

But he’d been mistaken.

Blood instantly starts to seep through Mathis’s shirt, the blue fabric that covers his chest turns red. His mouth hangs open in shock, or pain, or a mixture of both. And yet, after everything the twisted son of a bitch has put them through, Oliver can’t find it in himself to feel even an ounce of remorse. 

Barton Mathis falls to the floor with a loud thud, his hand still clutching his chest.

As soon as he’s down, Oliver rushes over to the containers. “Felicity,” he calls out, his voice barely above a whisper, knowing she must be confused and scared, especially after the gunshots.

“Oliver!” She sobs back, recognizing his voice.

He swiftly notices which chamber her voice had come from, and he pulls the door open, seeing her feet and legs. Sliding the tray out, he huffs in relief as his eyes rake in the rest of her body, her face, nothing but relief in his heart because he doesn’t see any blood on her.

There’s a knife in her hand though; one that Oliver has to dodge when Felicity sits up and goes to hug him with it still clutched in her fist, unaware that she’s still gripping it. He angles her hand up before she can accidentally knick him, holding her by the wrist as he hauls her against his chest. “Are you okay?” He begs, desperate. She whimpers in response, tossing the knife to the side. 

Oliver releases his grip on her wrist, giving her the room to wrap both of her arms around his neck. He picks her up, pulling her off the metal slab and into his embrace. “Honey,” he tries not to sound as panicked as he feels, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing at it. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Felicity buries her face in his neck, like she doesn’t want to see the scene in the room. And he doesn’t blame her. 

“I got you, I got you,” he promises, carrying her as he heads for the door.

When they get into the hallway, she picks her head up, blinking at the bright lights. “Curtis,” Felicity sniffles, her voice full of concern.

Looking down the hall, he can see that John is just starting to rouse the younger agent awake. “He’s okay,” Oliver tells her. 

“Oh my god, Oliver,” she groans back. “He was about to...I thought he would…”

“Shhh,” he tries to soothe as he continues down the hallway towards his agents. “Everything is okay. It’s over now, Felicity...it’s over.”

Diggle pulls his attention away from Curtis to glance up at them as they get closer. And as soon as he does, his face drops. He jumps to his feet, forgetting about Curtis as he raises his gun. For a brief, panicked moment, Oliver thinks he’s pointing it at them. And then his friend yells, “get down!”

Immediately, Oliver ducks, his hand reaching up to cover Felicity’s head.

A single shot rings out, the sound ricocheting through the tunneled space. And Oliver glances over his shoulder to see Barton Mathis once again. To see Barton Mathis fall once again. This time with a bullet in his head. The knife that the killer was wielding in his hand as he’d crept up behind him and Felicity, the same one that she’d tossed aside on their way out, crashes to the floor along with him.

And then he stops moving.

Felicity’s hand is clutching his shirt, her face still hidden against his chest and her breaths heavy. 

“It’s over,” she whispers. “It’s really over, Oliver.” Whether she saw Mathis die or she could sense the shift in the air, he isn’t sure.

Either way, she’s right. 

“Yeah,” Oliver huffs in relief. Knowing that with Mathis’s death, the words are finally, entirely, true…he tilts his lips down to kiss her hair. He has his whole world in his arms, and there’s no chance of the Dollmaker’s sinister plan for her ever coming true. “It really is. You’re safe, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...a lot happened. Lots of action! And a few sweet Olicity moments, too. I'll be posting the epilogue next week, on November 7th, and it'll wrap up some plot points that are still hanging out as of now. So, if you were worried that I'd forgotten about certain things, fret not my little pumpkin seeds! We'll come back to them. The epilogue will also be similar to the one in Just Beneath the Surface. We're done with the crazy twists and turns and scaries! It's meant to be catharsis for everything I just put you through ;)
> 
> Let me know what y'all thought in the comments! I'm pretty excited for reactions on this one!!
> 
> Gif by the amazing Magda! (olida_magda on twitter/ magda1102 on tumblr)
> 
> twitter: olicitysbett  
tumblr: smoaking-greenarrow


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a couple days late, and that's totally my fault. I should have known I'd be glued to my phone all election week, checking on America. Anyway, this is mostly just tying up some loose ends (and maybe laying a couple potential future seeds because I am me and I can't not) and giving y'all the fluff you deserve after the angst-filled ride that this journey has been. I love you all and I appreciate you reading it (especially those of you that yell at me because you don't like scary things but then you keep reading every chapter ily SO MUCH).

She can’t stop fidgeting. Every time Oliver gently places his hand on her knee, her leg would stop bouncing. But then he’d move it away, and it wouldn’t be long until it started bouncing again.

Felicity has been here more times than she can count over the last two years, but she can’t remember the courtroom ever being so crowded. Now, it’s packed with people; state officials, federal agents, witnesses, prison guards and prisoners. All there to testify in the trial of one very crooked warden. More crooked than she had even realized.

After listening to the statements of the prisoners that Knox abused and the guards who either helped him or felt too helpless to stop him, Felicity was anxious. There were a number of respected, seemingly reliable police officers who had already given their affirmations that warden Knox was a wonderful, kind-hearted man who led with integrity and justice and blah, blah, _ blah. _

If the jury decided to swing in the favor of those _ liars _, she and Oliver would be pretty screwed. 

The warden would paint a target on her back because she took the stand and told the truth; that he was corrupt, and unfit to oversee Slabside. And he would probably have it out for Oliver even more, since Oliver took the stand and basically unloaded a decade’s worth of transgressions.

Oliver’s testimony had opened the floodgates. And for days, the trial persisted where witness after witness got up and told their stories. It was so much bigger than Felicity or Oliver even knew, and she had a feeling that if Knox goes down, there will be a number of other powerful allies who follow him.

From the side of the courtroom, the doors finally open.

One by one, the jury members file in as the rest of the room remains silent. Felicity holds her breath, her eyes combing over each of their faces in hopes that their expressions will tell her their verdict.

They don’t.

Just as she remembers to breathe in, Oliver’s hand gently touches her knee again, stopping it from bouncing. With another deep breath, Felicity covers his hand with her own. 

His eyes are on her as she looks up at him.

“It’s okay,” he mouths the words, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers for one more breath. She nods back, intrigued by the look on his face. For the last few days, as the trial and sleepless nights stressed them both out, Oliver hadn’t exactly been the most cheerful person to be around. But that’s exactly what Felicity sees in his eyes as he stares back at her, his lips twitching with a smile that he’s trying to hide.

Felicity frowns back at him, a question in her own eyes. He just pinches his lips together, squeezing her knee in response.

He thinks they’re going to win.

She can see it on his face.

Which means that Oliver had a better time assessing the jury than she did.

Even as the jurors hand the verdict to the foreperson, Felicity keeps her eyes trained on Oliver, relying on him, once again, to keep herself calm. She doesn’t want to know what kind of nightmare will come if warden Knox is decidedly ‘not guilty’ of the crimes she knows he’s done. If a man like that has power over an institution like Slabside, but this time with vengeance and his eye on them. She truly isn’t sure how much more fear and uncertainty she can endure. Or how much more strain her relationship can handle before one of them breaks.

Despite herself, she just can’t help but think..._ haven’t we been through enough? _

Luckily, the peace that Felicity finds in Oliver’s eyes seems to be doing the trick.

“How does the jury find the defendant?” She hears the judge ask.

Oliver’s thumb rubs against her leg, his eyes still locked with hers, and Felicity’s breath catches in her throat. But she doesn’t look away. 

“Your honor,” the foreperson speaks up, “the jury finds the defendant...guilty.”

* * *

“Ms. Smoak, I’m not sure that I can do what you’re asking me to do.”

Felicity sighs, her bare feet patting across the floor as she paces in front of her desk. “I realize that it’s a difficult request, judge Lewis...especially after Knox’s trial.” She pinches her lips together, stopping herself from saying too much. 

The woman on the other end of the line stays quiet for a moment. “And you understand that I wouldn’t even be entertaining it if it was anyone besides you that was asking?”

She lets out a huff of surprise, hearing the smile in the other woman’s voice. And Felicity isn’t sure she’s ever even _ seen _judge Lewis smile. “I—yes, I understand.”

“I know I don’t have to tell you how dangerous Stanley Dover is.”

“No ma’am, you don’t,” Felicity quickly agrees. 

“And yet you want him out of prison?”

Her feet are cold against the tile floor as she continues to pace, lifting a hand to wrap it around the phone cord nervously now. “I want him to be somewhere that makes things safer for everyone. And I think that getting his ass kicked at Slabside every day isn’t very productive for anyone.” She stalls, her eyes going wide as she drops the phone cord, realizing her own words and who she’s speaking to. “Pardon my language, your honor.”

The judge sighs, contemplating. “You know, you’re really touching on the kind of prison reform that we’ve been discussing lately. I just never thought that Stanley Dover would be the first convict we looked at.”

“I know that there are more like him,” Felicity answers quietly. “I know that there are men in Slabside who would be better suited somewhere else. I also know that there are men in there who don’t deserve to be there at all.”

It’s something she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about ever since warden Knox was sent off to another prison across the country. She almost wished that they would have locked him up in Slabside, but his chances of surviving one day as a prisoner there were slim. And therefore that option just seemed cruel. The men who he’d tortured for years would eat him alive. 

No better than a death sentence, really.

“And there are also monsters who need a cage,” the judge challenges.

“Trust me,” Felicity whispers back, her thoughts instinctively leading to Barton Mathis. “I know about those monsters, too. I suppose now, the job is to decide who the monsters are.”

“Slabside needs a lot of work,” judge Lewis mumbles thoughtfully. “But I’ll accept your request. Stanley Dover can serve out his sentence in an institution. One with good security in place. I assume you want that to be as far from Starling as possible.”

Chuckling, Felicity feels relief wash over her. “Preferably.”

“All right,” the woman replies. “Send me a formal proposal by the end of the week.”

“Of course!”

“And Ms. Smoak, if you wouldn’t mind doing me a small favor in return?”

Felicity pauses, her heart sinking a little bit. “Um...okay?”

“Tell John Diggle to give me a call back about that position. I need an answer sooner rather than later.”

Confused, Felicity stumbles over her words, voicing some kind of agreement before quickly hanging up. 

She gives herself a short, solitary moment of joy, which apparently means a spontaneous victory dance in front of her desk, and then she puts her shoes back on and marches right up to Diggle’s office.

“Hey,” Felicity pauses in the doorway, stepping inside once she sees that he’s alone. 

Her supervisor glances up at her, smiling as he puts his pen down, abandoning the work on his desk and leaning back in his chair. “Hey, Felicity. How’s it going?”

She returns the smile, pointing to the chair across from him, which he quickly gestures for her to take. “Things are good,” she sits down with a sigh, her sore feet thanking her after all that pacing. “Really good, actually. I just got off the phone with judge Lewis. She’s going to have Stanley Dover placed in an institution that’s better suited to help him.”

Diggle raises his eyebrows, seeming genuinely surprised by the judge’s decision. “That’s great news.”

“It’s a great first step,” Felicity hums, admitting to herself that there’s also some relief, selfishly, to know that Stanley will be far away from her and Oliver while he gets that help. It _ has _to be better than a chaotic prison that he’s already escaped from once. 

“Did you come up here just to tell me that?” Dig asks, watching her with amusement.

Felicity purses her lips, tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair while she tries to assess where his head is at. “With the trial and everything, I also wasn’t sure if I really had the chance to say thank you. For Mathis. Not for killing him obviously although I can’t say that I’m _ not _happy he’s dead. But more for just...saving us. Oliver and I. You’ve spent a long time chasing a serial killer, and I know the whole case took a lot from you. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to see him brought to justice.”

John’s eyes soften as he looks back at her, “I did. The moment I saw Oliver carrying you out of the Holland Forest, when I saw that you were alive, that Mathis didn’t win...I made my peace with all of it. And the fact that you’re sitting in front of me now, the fact that you’re happy and we can all rest easier because we know that he won’t hurt you or anyone ever again? That’s all the justice I need.”

All she can do is nod, a wave of unexpected emotion suddenly washing over her. 

“You did, by the way,” 

“I did what?” Felicity asks in a whisper, not wanting her voice to betray her.

He grins, “say thank you already. So what are you really here for?”

_ Damn him. _

Working with FBI agents could really suck sometimes. They never let her get away with anything. “Well,” Felicity clears her throat. “Judge Lewis also wanted me to pass a message along...that she’d like an answer soon about a position she offered you?”

“Oh.”

“She seemed to think I knew what she was talking about. Imagine my surprise that my favorite mentor and best friend would keep a secret job offer from me, after all we’ve been through,” she sighs dramatically, “never said a word to me about it.”

Diggle cocks his head, giving her a look. “Lay on the guilt thick, Smoak.”

Felicity levels him with the same look, throwing it right back at him. “What was she talking about?”

“Judge Lewis mentioned that there’s going to be a new team within the FBI that focuses on prison reform. She recommended me to lead it.”

“Wow,” Felicity’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you going to take it?”

Her friend sighs, giving his shoulders a tiny shrug. “I want to. I’m just not sure that it’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve already proven once that I tend to crack under pressure, haven’t I?”

“Oh, please,” Felicity rolls her eyes. “You’ve been in charge of Curtis and I for two years now. If you can handle the two of us without cracking, then you’ll be just fine.”

To that, Diggle smiles. And of course she means it. Actually, she’s pretty sure that she and Curtis both had a habit of pushing the poor guy’s buttons a little too often, just to see how much they could get away with. But John Diggle never backed down from a challenge or gave up on something because it wasn’t going to be easy. He always taught them to find a way. “You always know where the line is, Dig,” she shrugs. “It’s why you’ve become somewhat of a moral compass for all of us.”

He won’t make the decision without weighing every pro and con. Of that, she’s certain. 

Seeing the thoughtful look on his face as his eyes turn to the window, Felicity quietly stands up, making her way to the door. She knows that he’ll probably make judge Lewis wait a while longer, but she also knows that in the end, he’ll make the right choice. For himself and for all the good he can accomplish.

* * *

It shouldn’t be this hard. 

She’s a literal genius, after all. This isn’t rocket science, yet it’s far more difficult than she’d been anticipating when she agreed to help. Felicity tosses a glance in Oliver’s direction, glad that he isn’t paying her any attention, because her struggle is real. 

“Come on, Smoak,” she mutters to herself, letting out a huff of air, blowing her hair out of her eye. “You know the circumference of a circle, you can make a pizza.”

As her fingers press into the dough again and again, she just makes it even more lopsided. Looking over at Oliver’s pizza, she sees that his is neat and smooth, nothing like the mess hers has turned into. “Do you need some help?” Oliver asks, keeping his eyes on his dough as he sprinkles salt over it.

“No,” Felicity grumbles. And then she sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

He smiles at that, abandoning his spot and coming up behind her. Bending down so he can reach, Oliver circles his arms around her, his hands moving to the pizza dough while he rests his chin on her shoulder. In a matter of seconds, he’s fixed most of her mistakes. She tips her head back to glare at him, “I would’ve gotten there. I was just trying to make it perfect.”

“We would’ve been here all night,” he quips back, pecking her cheek. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, that’s what’s fun about homemade pizza.”

With a pout, Felicity cranes her neck to get a better look at the pizza he’d been working on, realizing that it isn’t _ that _much better than hers. Although Oliver is definitely the natural in the kitchen, she’ll take her successes as they come. 

Kissing her forehead one more time, he starts to step away. “Wait,” Felicity stops him, leaning back into his chest. “I think the crust could use a little more of your attention.”

Oliver chuckles, quickly forming the edges of the pizza into a passable crust. Then he grabs a towel from the counter and wipes the grease from his hands before wrapping both arms around her middle. Felicity hums, closing her eyes as she melts into his embrace. He holds her for a moment, swaying gently. And when she turns her head towards his chest, she inhales, smelling his familiar scent and hearing his familiar heartbeat. 

“I’m starving,” he whispers in her ear after a moment. “Let’s get these pizzas in the oven.”

He loads his with olives and mushrooms, turning his nose up when he notices her choice of pineapple. She laughs, knowing that he knows she hates mushrooms. So she doesn’t feel bad. “And this is why we can never share pizza.”

Oliver scoffs, “even if I pick something we both like, you don’t share with me, anyway.”

Felicity shrugs, popping a piece of pineapple in her mouth. “I’ll share anything with you, baby. Just not pizza.”

He narrows his eyes at her, “yeah, yeah. Come put your beloved pizza in the oven.”

“Yes, sir,” she giggles, glad to be back in a place where they can tease each other. 

With Mathis gone, a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. A huge one. But Knox’s trial made them feel like they weren’t quite out of the woods. Now...that’s exactly how she feels. 

It’s over.

All of it.

A shiver courses through her, both at the draft of winter settling inside their home and the rush of happiness that settles inside of her. “Hey,” Felicity gestures towards the bedroom. “Mind if I borrow some socks?” 

Of course, there’s a drawer full of her own. But Oliver has the thick, warm kind that are _ perfect _for a night like tonight. “It’s not pizza, so I guess I can share,” he answers with a wink.

She flicks the light on as she steps into their bedroom, her attention caught by Ophie, who picks her head up at the interruption. The dog blinks in the light, squinting her eyes at Felicity, clearly awakened from a nap. 

Ophie yawns, stretching her legs out in front of her before curling back into the pillows. “Sorry, princess,” Felicity snorts, kneeling over the bed to kiss the dog’s head. Then she moves across the bedroom to Oliver’s dresser, opening the top drawer and looking inside for the pair she likes; tall navy blue ones made of wool.

“Felicity,” Oliver calls from the kitchen. “I’m going to take Ophie for a quick walk while the pizzas are cooking, okay?”

As soon as he says the word ‘walk,’ Ophie is scrambling to get up. The rest of his sentence is paired with the sound of her nails frantically clicking down the hallway, as if she thinks she’ll miss the walk if she doesn’t get to Oliver fast enough.

Rolling her eyes at her dog’s dramatics, Felicity dips her hand into the drawer, searching for the pair of socks she wants. “Sure, that’s fi—” she starts to call back to him, her words lost when her fingers find a small, smooth wooden box. She pulls it from the drawer, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

She’s really not sure what she was expecting to find, or if she was even thinking of anything specific at all in that moment, but her heart jumps into her throat when she pushes the top open and finds a simple, elegant diamond staring back at her.

“Felicity?” Oliver calls out. 

Too many questions are circling in her mind to voice a response for him. 

“Honey?”

_ He has an engagement ring? _

_ When did he get it? _

_ How long has he had it? _

_ And what does he plan on doing with it? _

“Oh shit,” she hears Oliver curse, then the sound of Ophie’s leash falling to the floor followed by his footsteps coming towards her.

She swallows the lump in her throat, unable to take her eyes off the ring. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Oliver appear in the doorway. Apparently, he’s realized what she must have found. A silent moment passes between them, one where he must realize that he’s too late to stop her from opening the box. “Felicity—”

Her eyes swing up to him; both of his hands are gripping the wood of the doorframe, his broad chest is heaving with a gasp, his eyes are wide and panicked and his mouth is gaping open.

“What is this?”

“Felicity…”

“No, Oliver. What is this?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I...I wasn’t supposed to _ see _it?” She raises her eyebrows.

He closes his eyes, visibly taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. “Not until later.”

She stares at him in disbelief, her mind reeling. “How long have you had it?”

“Almost a year.”

“A _ year _,” she sucks in a breath, shocked. “Is it mine? I mean, is it for me?”

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” he sighs her name, his eyes pleading with her, asking her not to doubt him now. “Of course it’s for you.”

“Okay…” She looks back down at the ring, which does nothing to keep her calm. It’s beautiful. The idea of Oliver picking out the ring, _ this _ring, with her in mind makes her head feel light. But she’s...confused. And conflicted. “Then why were you hiding it in your sock drawer for all this time?”

Oliver exhales slowly, doing a better job of controlling his emotions than she is. Although, she can still see the panic in his eyes. “I was waiting for the perfect moment to ask.”

“But you didn’t ask,” she points out the obvious. 

Her finding it by accident and him giving it to her are two very, very different things.

“I was going to.”

“But you haven’t. So...there must be a reason for that.”

He finally comes closer, stepping into her space and running his hands over her stiff arms. His fingers brush against her hands where she’s still gripping the ring box tightly. “Honey,” he says, gesturing towards the kitchen, “it isn’t like that. You said you’d never made pizza from scratch before, so I thought that we could try something new together and...I was going to propose _ tonight. _”

Felicity’s eyes pop open in surprise. He’d been acting a little off since they got home. She assumed it was just exhaustion and lingering stress from Knox’s trial. The wine, candles, and music he’d put on probably should have been clues. But to be fair, Oliver did those things every now and then_ just because. _Which, again, she’d chalked up to celebrating the trial.

“Oh my god,” she groans. “I’m a terrible girlfriend.” She can see a flash of pain in his expression, even as he smiles down at her, all of his plans dashed. “And an even worse detective,” she grumbles, her eyes dropping to the ring before she squeezes them shut. 

Oliver shakes his head, his voice soft as he argues, “well, you did find the evidence.”

“Not on purpose,” Felicity scoffs. “You were going to propose to me tonight? That’s what dinner is all about?”

“Well...yes. But dinner can still be about that.”

Almost instantly, her vision becomes blurry with tears. “I ruined your proposal.”

Oliver chuckles under his breath, “you didn’t ruin it, baby. We’ve never been the kind of couple to stick to a plan anyway, have we?”

“Oh, Oliver,” she breathes, his words doing nothing to make her feel better about finding the ring. Even if she really doesn’t care how or when he asked, she feels awful that she’d jumped the gun. Even if it was an accident. “I’m so sorry.”

Without a word, both of Oliver’s hands cover hers, rubbing them gently until she lets go of the box and he can take it from her. He leans in to kiss her, his lips making her heart race and calming her nerves all at once. “Don’t be sorry,” he tells her softly. “I planned on putting it in your soufflé later, but this just feels...a little more _ us. _”

Flashing her a crooked grin, he sinks down on one knee. “This moment feels pretty perfect to me.”

Felicity can’t help but laugh at the anxious, yet somehow arrogant expression on his face. As if he’s nervous to ask, even though he already knows what the answer will be. 

“Felicity Smoak...I’ve loved you since the first moment that I heard your voice. And since then, our life together has had twists, and tragedy, and the most intense, whole, and _ terrifying _love that I have ever known. And yet, you’ve made me fearless.”

The tears that are already in her eyes begin to fall, but for entirely different reasons. She beams down at him, and Oliver pauses long enough to smile back. It _ is _perfect.

“If I had the power to rewrite our story, there are things that I would change...I won’t deny that. But the one thing that would not change, that _ cannot _change, is how deeply I fell in love with you. I know that no matter what happened before or what happens from this moment forward, I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.”

As he takes the ring out of the box, she suddenly has the urge to pull him back up to his feet so she can kiss him.

Instead, she finds herself sinking to her own knees, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel the weight and all of the love in his eyes as he looks at her. And it’s there, each of them kneeling on their bedroom floor, their dog patiently waiting to be taken out for her evening walk, that Oliver finally holds up the ring in front of her. 

His smile is wide, his voice a low hum as he says, “I don’t want to spend one more day wondering what this ring will look like on your finger.”

Felicity laughs, happiness bubbling in her chest that perfectly fits the happiness she can see in his eyes. And if that’s not the most _ Oliver _way to ask a girl to marry him...

Biting her lip, Felicity offers him her left hand. “Well you better hurry up and get it on me, then.”

He slips the ring onto her finger, each of them ignoring that it’s a little too big as they stare at it. “Do you like it?” He asks, his expression almost timid as he glances back up at her. 

She stops her examining, _ admiring, _ to meet his eyes. “I love it,” Felicity promises. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he gets the words out just before her lips crash against his. 

Her arms wind around his neck, her body pushing into him, her tongue seeking entrance. Oliver groans as he kisses her back with fervor, spurring Felicity on as she starts to lean backwards, taking him with her. He gently eases her onto the floor, shifting until he’s on top of her, pressed between her legs.

They stay like that, in a welcome little bubble of bliss, kissing and talking and admiring the ring on her finger...until the smell of burning pizza has them both rushing back to the kitchen.

“There’s no way we can eat these,” Oliver laughs. He picks up one of the pizzas, which is so burnt it’s hard to tell if it’s his or hers, and taps it on the counter.

Felicity bends down to get Ophie’s leash where he’d dropped it earlier, and the dog hops down from the couch, sauntering over to the door and sitting down in front of it. Ophie gives them a look that says, _ well, finally. Let’s go. _

“Let’s take the long route,” Felicity shrugs at Oliver, certain that nothing, especially not burnt dinner, can ruin her mood. Ophie’s ears perk up, as if she understands exactly what Felicity had suggested. A nice, long walk. “We can pick up a pizza from Paul’s on the way home.”

Oliver smiles, nodding in agreement. “Not exactly according to plan,” he sighs, “but I guess that’s kind of the trend tonight.” He comes to join her in the hallway, taking her jacket off the coat rack and holding it out for her. Felicity slips her arms in, feeling his lips on the top of her head. Then she bends down and hooks Ophie’s leash to her collar.

As they walk through town, Felicity holds the leash while Oliver holds her hand, his thumb toying with the ring he’d just put on her. They move slowly, not caring how hungry they are. 

And every so often when Ophie stops to sniff a tree, Oliver will subtly tilt Felicity’s hand up, his eyes dropping to the ring, a thoughtful, _ peaceful _expression crossing his face. 

And Felicity loves it way too much to tease him about it.

And at certain points during the night, it hits them both that they’re spending the night doing exactly what they’d do on any other night. There’s nothing distinctly memorable or exciting about it aside from their engagement. 

And it’s the normalcy that they love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thank you all again for sticking with this story!! It means so much to me :)
> 
> tumblr: smoaking-greenarrow  
twitter: olicitysbett


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